


Windflower

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Frottage, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Illness, Nesting, Oblivious Shiro (Voltron), Pillow & Blanket Forts, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-Season/Series 07, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Top Keith (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:01:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17095991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: In the wake of Sendak's defeat on Earth, two things happen in close proximity to each other: Keith learns he's sick and Shiro learns he's cured. When Keith starts coughing up flowers, proof of a love unexpressed, Shiro must reevaluate not just his feelings for his best friend but his place in his own future.





	Windflower

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic request written for someone (who wants to stay anonymous) asking for hanahaki (with an established cure/vaccine), pillow forts, boys being dumb, and boys being in love. There were other requests, too, but I don't want to clutter up this beginning note too much and spoil the surprises. 
> 
> This was SO much fun to write. Hope you all enjoy! ♥

Keith doesn’t realize he’s sick at first. Instead, he just ignores the short coughing fits he gets on and off during the journey home. He shoves down the coiling feeling in his chest— easy, almost, to ignore it. 

When he starts coughing up petals, Keith doesn’t really feel any true alarm. It’s just another weird thing happening in his weird life. Once it happens a second time, though, he opens a private comm to the Yellow Lion. 

“Uhh, Hunk? This is going to sound strange but stick with me.” 

“What’s up?” 

He cringes when he asks, “Is it possible that if we ate some space seeds, they could, uh… grow in our stomachs?” 

He can practically hear Hunk’s blank look when he answers, “… No, Keith. No. I don’t think that’s possible.” 

“Yeah, right. Stupid question.” Keith shrugs and lets out a wheezing little laugh. “Forget I asked.” 

He never brings it up again, but the petals keep coming. Once they get back to Earth, the petals turn into full-fledged flowers, blooming open in his hand. Sometimes they’re speckled with blood. But that’s something to set aside, too. It’s a matter of protecting the Earth. Protecting _Shiro._ There are better things to focus on than an apparent garden in his body. 

“You doing okay? You’re breathing kind of heavy,” Pidge asks at one point, her brow furrowing, and Keith only shrugs and blames adrenaline for the heightened heartrate. 

It’s painful. Every time, he curls into himself as he heaves out gasping breaths, his entire body seizing around the foreign object inside of him. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, but his voice is scratchy with flowers blooming up his throat. 

In the wake of their expulsion, his body is a shivering mess, made of goosebumps and chills, his arms wrapped around himself as he gulps down shaky swallows of air. Breathing hurts. He collects and destroys each flower scattered across the floor. 

It doesn’t occur to him to tell anyone. He’s essentially coughing up flowers: there _isn’t_ a logical explanation for it other than space weirdness, and he knows Earth doctors won’t be able to do much about it. It’ll pass, he thinks, once the flowers die inside him and stop blooming. 

More than anything, there’s enough going on— the last thing anyone needs is to worry about him. The last thing Shiro needs is another reason to worry. Keith bends down as he starts coughing up another flower.

When the Paladins of Voltron save the Earth, when they fall from the sky, plummeting down towards Earth, Keith thinks one last time of Shiro and coughs out one flower before he closes his eyes and braces for impact. 

 

-

 

If Shiro could, he’d stay in Keith’s hospital room until he wakes up. Because he’s a newly promoted Captain, however, he isn’t granted such freedom. Not when there’s work to be done, plans to stabilize, and each Voltron Paladin out of commission. Shiro’s days blur together and he does what he can. He’s used to running on empty, at this point, and used to working to keep his mind busy—

If anything, it’s a welcome reprieve. He spent so many weeks during the journey back to Earth worried he’d fall into his mind again and never escape, lost in his thoughts and everything he’s been avoiding. At least like this, he has something to focus on. He can’t afford to let his mind go idle. 

Still, when he can, he visits the Paladins. They wake up one by one, all except Keith. They’re surrounded by their families, mothers and fathers and siblings and extended relatives and family friends. And all the while, Shiro keeps working. He ends each visit by sitting at Keith’s bedside, hoping he’ll wake up— hoping that he doesn’t have to wake up alone. 

He breathes easier when Krolia arrives with the Blades and, that way, Keith doesn’t have to be alone. She arrives like a hurricane, alarmed and angry and demanding the doctors to tell her what’s become of her son. 

When Shiro leads her to him, she calms only once she can confirm he’s sleeping and still alive. Keith suffered the worst of the injuries as the Head of Voltron, but he’s expected to make a full recovery. 

“I can leave you with him,” Shiro says, taking a step back.

“Stay,” she commands and he doesn’t disobey her. 

He’s grateful for it. Shiro and Krolia sit together looking Keith over, her at the foot of the bed and Shiro in a rickety old hospital chair. 

The scene is almost familiar, in a warped sense. Shiro’s more used to being the one in the hospital bed, a scene that played out multiple times long before Kerberos. He got used to waking up alone there, too, once his grandfather, his only living relative, passed away. 

Shiro clasps and unclasps his hands, a nervous, fidgeting habit. Krolia sits in perfect stillness, a statue holding vigil over her son. Keith’s laid out, his breathing raspy, his cheeks pale. Shiro can’t remember any time he’s seen Keith like this. Keith is fire, Keith is vibrant— Keith isn’t meant to look so thin in a hospital bed. 

“How did this happen?” Krolia asks and Shiro tells her the story that he couldn’t over the radio call he sent to her and the Blades, a hurried message for her to get here. He gives her the details now. He can’t blame her for her frantic protectiveness, not so soon after Keith’s return in her life. 

The sooner it’s clear that Keith is sleeping and not on the verge of death, the more Krolia’s shoulders relax. He and Krolia sit in a companionable silence. Shiro appreciates that about Krolia— just how much her steadiness and silence reminds him of Keith, of any quiet moment he might have with him. It isn’t amazing to him that Krolia and Keith should get along even without the excuse of shared blood. He can see how good those two years on the whale were for Keith. And, he imagines, for Krolia, too. 

If there’s an ache deep in Shiro’s chest when he thinks of it, something missing (a family, a home), he doesn’t poke at it. If his chest twists up even more when he looks at Keith, more than the other Paladins, he doesn’t question it. It isn’t jealousy for family, but longing. And Shiro’s gotten used to translating longing into action, to keep striving towards his dreams even when everyone else would wall it off to him. This, though, is something that can’t be achieved and he’s long since learned to accept that. 

Shiro’s sure that, if he allowed it, Krolia would sit in complete silence until Keith awoke. But the silence mounts inside Shiro, presses too much against his mind— too much silence, too much empty space. He used to be so comfortable with silence, and now it terrifies him. 

“He’ll be okay,” Shiro says, and knows immediately that he’s reassuring himself and not Krolia. 

Krolia’s mouth twitches into an almost-smile when she says, “Yes. Keith is strong.”

“He is,” Shiro agrees, voice breathless with wonder— he’s never not going to be awed by everything Keith is capable of, everything he’s achieved. He tells himself that, again and again, and doesn’t doubt Keith’s abilities, his strength: he’ll be okay. 

“You care for my son,” Krolia states, simply, startling Shiro. 

“He’s my best friend,” Shiro agrees. He reaches out and brushes some of Keith’s hair away from his forehead, studying his face slack with sleep. 

“And?” 

“And you can’t imagine all that he’s done for me,” Shiro answers. His heart thuds in his chest. He looks up when Krolia breathes out something like a laugh. “What?” 

“It’s nothing,” Krolia answers, her smile warmed at the edges. “I’m glad that he has someone like you in his life.”

There’s such a weight to the words that Shiro’s cheeks start to turn pink. He thinks he should correct her but can’t quite manage it. _You’re my brother,_ Keith had told him, splayed out on his back, eyes wide and desperate and pleading. 

“I’m the lucky one,” Shiro answers. He touches Keith’s cheek, fingers ghosting just at the edge of the scar there— that permanent, painful reminder of what he did, what he tried to do— and draws away again.

“I’m not surprised my son would have chosen you as his mate,” Krolia says, with something like self-satisfaction. “And of course I believe you to have made an excellent choice in accepting him.” 

Something disconnects in Shiro’s brain and then stutters to a halt. There’s a silence for exactly two and a half tics before he lets out a nervous laugh, unsure how to tell his best friend’s mother (a mother more than capable of taking him out) that she’s fundamentally misunderstanding his relationship with her son.

“I— we’re… Keith and I are just friends.”

He should be used to this by now, too. It isn’t the first time that someone has assumed he and Keith were dating— Allura asked him, in the early days on the Castle of Lions, if it was difficult to be the leader of Voltron while courting one of its Paladins. He’s _seen_ the exchanged looks between Hunk and Pidge. He isn’t oblivious to it but has learned to mostly ignore it. The others don’t understand his and Keith’s friendship and that’s alright— it isn’t meant for anyone else. 

“Truly?” Krolia asks, more wondering to herself than otherwise. “Hmm. I see.” She looks at him. “You’re sure?” 

“I… Yes. It’s not like that. Keith and I are only friends.” 

“I suppose it’s just as well,” Krolia decides. “The Galra take courtship very seriously. It’s not to be taken lightly.” 

“… Right,” Shiro says, blushing and not sure why. He considers, for a moment, Keith _courting_ someone (being courted by _somebody_ ) and something hot slices down his spine, unpleasant. He leaves the thought aside and turns back to look at Keith, sleeping away. 

Krolia hums, looking at him with something like perplexity— and disappointment. Then she turns her attention back to Keith, too. She reaches out, touching his cheek, cupping it and holding it there. 

She doesn’t draw her hand away when she says, professional and precise, “Tell me of Earth’s tactics and how the Blade of Marmora can help.”

Grateful for the change of subject and something like even footing, Shiro draws out his datapad to tell her just that. 

 

-

 

It takes a few days after Keith wakes up before Shiro can visit him. When he does, though, he’s flushed and breathing heavily. Keith smiles at him, helpless and teasing, “Wow, did you run here?”

Instead of answering him, Shiro strides across the room and pulls Keith into his arms. Keith’s bruised ribs protest the movement but he doesn’t voice it, instead slinging his arms around his shoulders and holding tight. 

“Don’t you dare ask me how I’m feeling,” Keith preempts. “Probably fifty people have asked me that already today.”

“Fifty people visited you and asked you that? You must have gotten _super_ popular,” Shiro says and laughs when Keith hits his back. 

“But because I know you want to ask,” Keith continues, magnanimous, “I’m tired. But okay. Mom says that Galra heal faster than Humans, so I’m hoping I won’t be stuck here for long.” 

“You have to take the time you need.” Shiro sighs out, hugging him close. His voice heavy and quiet, he murmurs in Keith’s ear, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

_Oh,_ Keith thinks and hugs him back, practically clinging to him. He closes his eyes and leans against him and thinks, helplessly, _I love you._

It feels good, to be held in Shiro’s arms. His hold is tight but sturdy and Keith has never felt so safe. His entire body fills with flowers, ready to burst out, but he holds it back, instead pressing his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck and inhaling, feeling utterly and completely safe and well. 

 

-

 

Shiro can’t help the flinch as he runs through the tests the doctors ask of him. It’s not the first time they’ve wanted to test his body’s acceptance of his new arm. The desire to test him has gotten worse now that the rumors have circulated about his cloned body. The doctors have a lot of questions, and now that they aren’t under near-threat of the Galra, it’s easier and easier to corner Shiro into tests.

He's agitated today, though. He thought his mood would improve once Keith woke up, but it’s somehow worse seeing him confined to the hospital. Having to face, again and again, how quickly Keith could have been lost to him. How easily Keith could have died, all while Shiro’s sitting around useless, poked and prodded by doctors. 

“Ow,” he says, pointedly, as a doctor pokes him hard in the arm with her needle. Bloodwork today, his least favorite. 

“Apologies, Captain,” the doctor says with a distinctly unapologetic tone as she draws his blood. Shiro sighs and squeezes the rubber ball in his hand at three-second intervals as instructed. He’s used to this, too. Years ago, the inside of his elbows were nearly scarred with needle punctures from doctors conducting tests. He isn’t thrilled to be revisiting the feeling. 

He has enough experience with hospitals to last a lifetime, and few of the experiences are pleasant. If he could get away with never visiting a hospital again, he would. It’s a waste of their limited resources to be worrying about him, Shiro thinks. Better to devote it to the many people who were injured or sick during the war. Too many have died already.

He thinks of Adam, a flash of a thought, and sadness lances through him. Another challenge to his assumption that Shiro would always die first— Adam was never meant to leave before him. Not like this. 

This is the part Shiro hates the most. The sitting. The waiting. All Shiro can do, as the doctor works, is think. He’s used to that, spending hours and weeks and months in and out of doctors’ offices, out of hospitals, with their tests, their new treatments, their platitudes. 

Shiro always knew he would die young. Shiro always knew he would die before many of his friends and colleagues. It’s strange, to have gone through everything he has, out in space, in the arena, in the expanse of the Black Lion, and somehow wind up just where he started— getting his blood drawn to see just what is wrong with him now. 

“You don’t need to squeeze so hard, Captain,” the doctor soothes but Shiro is only half-listening, his mind years and years away from him. 

Strange, to go through everything, and to wind up just where he started again. To have had the taste of a different life, only to come back again to a place with a limited future, a finish line already looming far too close. 

He’s quick to stuff everything back down and squeeze the rubber ball until the doctor tells him to stop and withdraws her needle. 

 

-

 

Keith’s the last of the Paladins to be released from the hospital, and the day he is, everyone’s there to help him move into his quarters on the Atlas. There is absolutely no reason why _everyone_ has to help, as it’s not as if he has that much stuff to transport, and yet it’s a fun affair. Keith can’t (and doesn’t) complain. He laughs and shoves Lance out of the way when he tries to insist that Keith’s room is bigger than everybody else’s. He lets Hunk shower him with sweets he’d baked just for this occasion. He lets Pidge screw around with the light-dimmers to see if she can get them to strobe. He lets Allura hang some Altean-themed tapestries on the wall, as she’d done for everyone before him. He doesn’t complain when Romelle and Coran start getting loud and maybe a little rowdy. 

It becomes a makeshift party, if it can even be called that. More like: everyone crammed into Keith’s much-too-tiny-for-this quarters and chatting. Lance even starts bouncing on Keith’s bed, although that might be just because he wants to be obnoxious, and he pays for it when it makes his leg-injury twinge in pain and he doubles over. Hunk leaves temporarily and comes back with more food and drink and then it really is a hang-out. 

It’s a little overwhelming, if only because Keith isn’t used to speaking and isn’t used to loud noises and being forced to socialize, even when it’s with the people he cares for. At one point, though, Shiro touches his shoulder, jarring him from his rattling thoughts, and smiles at him before offering him a can of sparkly water. 

He can feel the flowers in his throat. Keith isn’t an idiot. He’s paid close attention to the flowers the last few days— never appearing on the days Shiro can’t visit, always appearing in his wake. Sometimes, thinking of Shiro is enough to get a petal to burst past his lips. 

He knows these flowers have something to do with Shiro— triggered, somehow, by Shiro’s presence or thoughts about Shiro. He doesn’t know yet what to make of it and knows he can’t tell Shiro, knows Shiro will blame himself. 

Still, Keith doesn’t protest when Shiro tugs once on his shoulder to pull him from the room. He follows, just as he’d follow him anywhere. 

Keith isn’t used to the Atlas and lets Shiro lead the way. They turn down a couple corridors and hallways and end up on an observation deck. The Atlas hasn’t returned to her hanger since the robeast incident, so up this high, Keith can see for miles and miles outside the garrison’s walls. 

“You looked like you could use a breather,” Shiro says when Keith looks up at him. He smiles. 

Keith’s heart gallops, for just a moment, and he can’t help the blush. That’s always been Shiro— observing and helping, watching Keith’s back even in the smaller ways like this. It’s one of the many things he loves about him, that feeling locked up tight. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith says, sipping his water. He leans against the railing overlooking the thick-paned windows of the observation deck. “Kind of pathetic I was feeling overwhelmed by that.”

“Not at all,” Shiro says, settling in beside him and nudging him gently. “Honestly… I can relate. When I first— woke up, everyone speaking at once was _so much_ after being stuck in all that silence, you know?”

Something deep and painful aches in Keith’s gut, but he manages a nod. “Yeah. I get it.” 

“I can leave if you’d rather be on your own. Don’t want to overwhelm you out here, either.” There’s something twinging Shiro’s words, a heaviness he isn’t expressing, and once upon a time, Keith would have insisted that Shiro tell him what’s on his mind. He likes to think he’s gotten better at being patient, and so he waits— Shiro will tell him, in time. 

“Stay. You never overwhelm me,” Keith says and, belatedly, returns Shiro’s nudge. He stays pressed against his side afterwards and they look out over the long expanse of desert. 

It’s beautiful, out there. Peaceful. Keith tells himself that he’s alright, that everything is alright. Everyone is alive. Shiro is here beside him, solid and present. Keith can’t ask for anything more than that.

Shiro breaks the silence after a pause with a quiet, “Want to take it easy tonight? The party should be dying down soon… I could grab us some food and watch a movie. Like old times.” 

Keith laughs, fond. “Woah. How long’s it been since we did that?” 

“Since before Kerberos, definitely,” Shiro answers, immediate. He nudges Keith. “Is that a yes?” 

“It’s a yes,” Keith decides, “But only if I get to pick the movie. I still remember that horrible cat thing we had to watch last time. That was your choice and I’ll never forgive you for it.” 

“I like cats!” 

“That movie was _bad_ , Shiro,” Keith protests. “I’m picking the movie.”

Shiro’s grinning, looking happier than he has in ages, eyes sparkling when he says, “Okay, okay. You win.” 

Keith holds it together long enough to keep from coughing until after Shiro leaves, promising to come back soon with the food. He bends into himself, coughing incessantly. His entire body feels like it’s trying to claw out of him. 

When he looks up, cupping five bloody flowers in his hands, Krolia is standing there, her eyes wide. 

 

-

 

Krolia slams through the living quarters, steering Keith towards the first empty room since Keith’s room is otherwise occupied. She’s obvious and loud, though, especially when she barks into Keith’s room’s open doorway, “Coran, come here.” 

The others try to follow but Krolia yanks Keith and Coran inside of Lance’s room and makes sure the door whooshes shut behind them. Lance squawks loudly since his foot’s nearly caught in the door, and Keith can hear the others outside even as he presses a hand to his mouth, pushing back the flowers threatening to spill out. 

Krolia guides him and sits him down in a chair, kneeling in front of him. 

“ _Keith_ ,” his mom says, upset, her hands gripping his shoulders and holding him tight. “Why didn’t you tell me? _Why_ aren’t you vaccinated?” 

Keith can’t answer, confused as he is by the question, because Coran, alarmed by Krolia’s tone, asks, “What’s going on? Is everything alright?” 

Krolia looks at Coran and says, “Keith has the Galran Windflower Disorder.” 

The words mean nothing to Keith but Coran’s eyes widen. He sounds concerned when understanding hits and he says, “Ahh… A case of the unrequited love, is it?” 

Keith’s eyes widen, too, and he stares between Coran and Krolia. He drops his hand away and coughs out a small flower— a windflower, apparently— and the three of them stare at is as it falls to the ground at Keith’s feet.

Krolia looks progressively more alarmed, her grip tight on Keith. “How aren’t you vaccinated?” 

“I’ve never even heard of this!” Keith says. “Humans don’t— we don’t just cough up flowers!” He bites his lip, trembling and hating that he is. “Mom,” he says, desperate, “What’s wrong with me?” 

“Not to worry!” Coran cuts in, reassuring, some of the worry edging the corners of his eyes. “There’s an easy enough cure, even with fully-formed flowers! You’ve caught it early enough— you’ll be fine in just a tic.” 

Krolia touches his face, cupping his cheek, her expression splintering. “Oh, Keith. You should have told me. You must be in pain.” 

It’s true that coughing up flowers has left Keith’s body feeling raw, trembly and uncertain, and there’s a comfort in his mother cupping his face. But still, the words don’t quite settle. His mouth twists up. 

“Coran,” he says, looking at him even as his cheeks start to flush with the question, “What— what do you mean ‘a case of unrequited love’?” 

Krolia and Coran exchange a look. Krolia frowns and says, “Galran Windflower Disorder manifests in reaction to… love that isn’t returned.” 

Something coils, ugly and sudden, up in Keith’s stomach— not flowers, but dread. He stands up from the chair, feeling too vulnerable sitting. “What?” 

“There is a cure,” Krolia says, although that’s not what’s making Keith feel like he’s about to shrink into himself, shrivel up and die like all the flowers Keith’s thrown away. “The Galra developed it centuries ago— and a vaccine, too. It’s uncommon for Galra to be unvaccinated, which is why you’ve likely never seen any case of this while with the Blades.” 

Keith nods. That much is true— he’d have remembered seeing a Galra choking out flowers. 

“And,” Coran supplies, “There’s a natural cure, too— confessing those feelings.” 

Krolia keeps touching Keith, seeking to comfort him, to hold him close and protect him. Coran’s words still Keith to his core, though, something twisting up uneasily in his gut. A fight or flight response— no. No, he can’t say anything. _No._

Krolia’s hands are gentle. Keith still isn’t used to such care and his heart twists up as he leans against her, pressing his face against her collar. She curls her arms around him, holding him. 

“It’s going to be okay. With the cure, there’s no risk of death,” she tells him, head bowed into his hair. He holds her tight, hating that he’s shaking. 

“Unrequited love,” Keith says faintly, the words settling. He feels cold all over, fears he’ll never be warm again. He closes his eyes. He swallows down thickly. 

Unrequited. There’s only one person he can be in love with and— the feeling isn’t returned. It’s a difficult way to know it for sure, although Keith has long suspected, since the moment he realized his feelings for Shiro— too long ago now, to count. It’s a cruel way for him to know, but perhaps it saves him that hardship— and protects their friendship; he’ll never have to put Shiro in the awkward position of turning him down. 

Keith should have known. Shiro’s silence after their fight at the clone facility should have been answer enough. And yet, Keith realizes in this moment—

A small part of him had hoped. 

Maybe a small part of him had kept holding on, had kept reading into every silence, every look, every touch that Shiro gave to him. But it was never going to be. Shiro was only ever going to see him as a friend, and now he has a disease that proves it. 

Krolia’s hands comb through his hair, her needle-sharp nails gentle against his scalp. Keith clenches his eyes shut. 

“I’ll speak with the Blades about getting the cure,” Krolia says. “Hopefully a warehouse that manufactures it is within a fair distance, and undamaged in the war.” She looks to Coran. “You are familiar with this disease where the Humans are not. You should see what resources are available here.” 

It’s in this moment that the door whooshes open and the Paladins come tumbling in. Pidge’s hands are wrist-deep in the wiring for the door-code and she doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty about it. 

“What do you mean Keith’s sick?” Hunk is the first to ask. Clearly they’d been trying to listen at the door. Keith can’t even be angry at their nosiness, knowing it’s born out of concern for him.

Still, he feels his entire face heat up as he jerks out of his mother’s hold, worrying that they’d heard— well, everything. 

Fearing Krolia or Coran are going to start talking about unrequited love, Keith jumps in, “It’s called the Galran Windingflower—”

“Windflower,” Coran interrupts.

“Galran Windflower Disorder,” Keith continues, cringing. “It’s not a big deal. There’s a cure. I’m fine.” 

He ignores his mother’s sharp look at the _it’s not a big deal._

“It just means Keith’s going to be expelling flowers for the time being,” Coran supplies. 

“Expelling?” Lance asks, wary. His eyes look a little jumpy, though, betraying his concern.

“Coughing up,” Keith clarifies, before Lance can slide into the wrong conclusions. 

Allura, the only one in the Paladins who would know the disease, looks concerned. She approaches Keith quickly, where he stands awkwardly and feeling too focused-on. 

“Oh, Keith,” Allura says. “What can we do to help?” 

“There isn’t much to be done other than to wait for the cure,” Krolia says, her arm curled protectively around Keith’s shoulder. She looks down at him with a thoughtful frown, something shining in her eyes. “Keith has a few options. It’s true that he shouldn’t be in any real danger, now that we’ve identified it.” 

“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” Keith mutters, looking up at his mom. He thinks of Shiro— how worried he’ll be, once he knows. Because that’s who Shiro is, who Shiro has always been. 

He almost expects it when he lurches and bends into himself, gripping his stomach as he heaves out wheezing, gasping coughs. A flower punctuates each cough, sprinkling the floor. Windflowers. 

“Wow,” Hunk says after the silence that follows, everyone staring at the flowers on the floor.

Keith looks away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, wishing he was anywhere but here. He feels light-headed, weak and shaky. He’s been coughing too much and his lungs feel too constricted. It’s difficult to breathe. He wonders if he’s legitimately having a panic attack or if it’s simply a matter that there are apparently flowers growing inside him, threatening to burst out of him. 

He can’t breathe. 

“Keith,” his mom says, quiet and concerned.

“I’m okay,” Keith lies, wobbling. Her hand touches his elbow and then shifts to curl her arm around his shoulders, holding him tight against her side. He feels safer like that, even if he still feels woozy. 

“But there’s a cure,” Pidge says. “That’s good. So Keith’s going to be okay?”

“He will be,” Krolia says, firm. “I’ll look into it immediately.”

“If it’s plant-based, my mom might be able to help. If there’s something the earth plants can do to help Keith, she’s the one to ask,” Pidge insists. Krolia nods and Keith closes his eyes, trying to steady himself. 

“So… let me get this straight. Keith’s just, what, dying because he’s coughing up flowers that are choking him?” Lance announces just as Shiro turns the corner, carrying a bag of food. 

Keith witnesses Shiro’s arrival as if it were happening to someone else. One moment, he is fine, and the next everything is awful. The world zeroes in on Shiro, watches Shiro’s expression ripple from confusion to fear at Lance’s words, the way his eyes skate first over the flowers on the floor and then to Keith’s face, the way Krolia’s holding him protectively. 

“Keith—” 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, and then collapses. 

 

-

 

It doesn’t take long for Keith to wake up again. He’s in his bed and everyone’s surrounding him. It’s nearly suffocating, and he looks around, alarmed, until his jittering eyes settle on his mom, right there beside him. 

“It’s alright,” she says. “You’re safe.” 

The wolf noses at his shoulder and he gratefully turns towards him, blushing and burying his face in his fur, hiding from everyone’s concern. He’s embarrassed, not just for collapsing, but for being sick at all. 

“Okay, everyone,” he hears Shiro say and nearly flinches to think that Shiro is _here_. He fears what his mom and Coran might have said, what he might _know._ “Let’s back off and let Keith rest, okay?” 

_Unrequited love._

He breathes out in a wavering, stuttering sigh and coughs, once. A petal hits the back of his teeth and he clenches his jaw. He doesn’t lift his face from the wolf’s fur. He listens carefully to the sounds of shuffling footsteps, of the paladins wishing Keith a good rest. 

Keith feels like he might just die of embarrassment. Better that than the flowers, probably. 

His mother touches his hair and slides her hand down his back, rubbing soothing circles. 

“He’ll be alright, Captain,” Krolia tells Shiro. Keith clenches his eyes shut even though his face is hidden by the wolf. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, quiet— pained. 

He sucks in a sharp breath and lifts his head quickly, seeking Shiro out. The room is empty save for the three of them and Shiro is too far away. Shiro takes a step towards him and hesitates, as if unsure if he should approach. 

Keith lifts his hand and reaches towards him. 

Shiro steps the rest of the way forward, grasping his hand and sitting at the side of the bed. Keith doesn’t even really notice his mom shift away until it’s just the two of them there. He stares at their hands, clasped tight, and then up at Shiro. 

His expression is splintered, eyes flickering over Keith’s face, looking at him for something. He looks small, somehow, and that more than anything makes his chest lurch in a painful coil. These flowers are because of Shiro. Shiro is the cause. It’s the worst feeling in the world and he knows he’ll never tell Shiro this. Knows he’ll never put that burden onto him. 

“Shiro… I’m sorry.” 

Shiro folds his other hand over where Keith grasps Shiro’s. His hand is engulfed by Shiro’s hands, safe somehow. Something wriggles inside his chest, a pleasant but painful feeling. He swallows down against a rise of flowers. 

Shiro is the cause.

 _Unrequited love._

He can never tell Shiro this part. He can never let Shiro know. 

“Hey… you don’t have to apologize to me,” Shiro says. His voice is quiet, earnest. He stares at Keith like he’s the only person in the world. The thought alone is painful. If it were true, there wouldn’t be flowers littering Keith’s floor right now. 

Keith waits until Shiro leaves again and it’s just him and his mother before he turns to her. 

“I’m going to be okay, Mom,” he tells her. Something eases in her expression and she sits beside him, folding him into her arms again. Keith closes his eyes, letting himself relax and be cradled by her. 

“You might consider the natural cure,” Krolia says, her voice soft. Understanding, even as she offers the solution, that Keith is likely to reject it. She knows him too well. 

Keith clenches his eyes shut, focusing on his breathing and the touch of his mom’s hand. He thinks of Shiro, unbidden, because of course he does. He expects the coughing. It comes and rips his insides apart. His mom collects the bloody flowers and throws them away for him as Keith buries his face into his hands, gasping down air. 

He could tell him.

But he already knows he can’t do that to Shiro. 

“I’m sorry this has happened to you,” Krolia says. “I’m sorry you have to suffer. It won’t be for long.” 

Keith nods, leaning against her. There’s something safe in having her here. He closes his eyes. 

“Windflower Disorder manifests in reaction to… those who believe themselves to be alone in their love. Our legends say it developed as a desire for communication, to make sure Galra bonds are strong,” Krolia says, her fingers gently brushing through Keith’s hair. “Most Galra are given a treatment as children to ward off the disorder. Confessing one’s feelings works, too.” 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Keith mutters. “Why now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This—” He draws back to look up at her. “Why _now_ ,” Keith says. “It’s not like this is— new. I’ve— you know I’ve loved Shiro for a long time.”

Keith never came out and said it, during their time in the abyss. But he knows his mother would know, based purely on observing Keith’s memories of Shiro. It was obvious to Keith, every time— mortifying to see just how obvious he was in mooning after Shiro in each memory. 

He can’t remember a time when he didn’t love Shiro. He knows such a time must have existed, but he can’t recall the shift from friendship to deep, unyielding love. It’s as seamlessly woven into Keith’s entire being as is his Galra blood, his Human heritage, his need to breathe. Part of him and never separated. Loving Shiro has always been part of Keith. 

“Sometimes these things take time to grow,” Krolia says. She rubs his back. “Do you remember when this first started?” 

Keith shakes his head. “The first flower showed up in the hospital. But— but I already love Shiro. He’s…” He trails off, quiet for a moment, then says, weakly, “He’s everything, Mom.”

“I know,” Krolia tells him, soothing and sympathetic. 

Keith recalls the tickling feeling in the back of his throat their entire journey home. He can’t recall feeling that with the Blades, or at the Castle. 

The realization settles over him, mortifying and terrifying at once. He groans and coughs, bending down and spitting out petals. 

“I did confess. I told him already,” Keith says, wiping at his mouth as he straightens up, turning to her. “That must have caused this. I— there’s no point in saying it again. I’m not going to pressure him or make him feel something he doesn’t.” 

“Keith,” Krolia says.

“Besides,” Keith says, quietly. “If I tell him now, because of this— and he accepts, then I’ll never know if it’s some sort of obligation. And if he still rejects me, then it won’t matter and he’ll feel awful for what’s happening. It isn’t his fault. I’m not going to put that responsibility on him. He’s been through enough.” 

Tears prickle in his eyes and he ducks his head, hissing out. 

“It’s Shiro. I _know_ he loves me— we’re friends. I— why can’t that be enough for these—” he breaks off in a cough, his entire body heaving and his face gritting in anger once he gets control of his breathing again. “ _Fuck._ Why can’t that be enough for these stupid _flowers_? It’s enough for me!” 

He doesn’t protest when Krolia pulls him into her arms again. He sinks into her, his body shaking. She doesn’t have an answer for him, but he didn’t expect there to be one.

 

-

 

The next few days are chaos. Shiro barely understands what’s going on, fueled on only by his need to help Keith in whatever way he can. Krolia’s in contact with the Blades to find the cure’s medical warehouses, and together with Pidge, Colleen’s moving towards making an Earth-based cure. 

When Shiro asks Keith what he can do, Keith only tells him, “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

Shiro doesn’t point out that if Shiro were to ever suggest such a thing to Keith, he’d be outright ignored. He doesn’t have the words to express how rattled and uncentered he feels. He hears Keith cough and dispose of a flower into a trash can like it’s nothing and it only makes Shiro feel broken, like he’s fundamentally failed his best friend in some way. There’s no reason for the feeling, but it’s there all the same— a desire, perhaps, to protect him just as much as Keith has protected him. 

And he’s failing at that. 

Through all of this, Shiro nearly misses his follow-up appointment with his doctors. 

When Shiro gets the news, he doesn’t know what to do with it. The doctor repeats it again, slowly, when Shiro doesn’t respond right away.

“We know it must be a shock,” the doctor says. “But this is a good sign. If we can conduct more tests on you, it might lead to a cure for others—”

“Right,” Shiro says, quietly, not processing the words. He stands. “Excuse me.” 

 

-

 

“Shiro?” 

Keith’s on his way back from the gym and a much needed workout when he sees Shiro waiting outside his door. He wasn’t able to workout as hard as he wanted to, his breathing still too restricted, but it’s better than sitting around acting the invalid because everyone’s worried about him. 

The moment he sees Shiro’s face, though, he’s worried— he goes to him immediately, hovering at his side. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Can we talk?” Shiro asks. His voice is quiet and for one terrifying moment, Keith’s afraid that somehow Shiro has found out— that somehow he _knows._ Everything within him goes hollow, the flowers surging up with new purpose. He swallows back his coughs and is quick to input his entrance code to his quarters.

“Come in.” He takes Shiro by his shoulders and leads him to his couch. Keith drops down beside him. “What is it?” 

He keeps his voice gentle, not pressuring. Ready to wait if Shiro needs it. 

But Shiro heaves in a deep breath, his body tensing before he forces himself to relax. His hands clench and unclench against his knees. 

“I— I don’t know how to start.” Shiro takes a deep breath. “It’s strange. I— I…” 

He trails off, quiet for a long moment. Keith bites his lip, watching him. And then watches, in shock, as Shiro slumps forward, hand pressing to his face, and as his shoulders start shaking with silent sobs. His entire body heaves with the force of a punched-out, soft cry. 

“Shiro!” Keith cries out, already reaching for him. He pulls Shiro into his arms and Shiro crumbles against him. He goes rigid only for a second before he seems to collapse into himself.

“God, sorry,” Shiro whimpers, wiping at his eyes, hiding his face. His body trembles and it’s _too much_. Keith feels his entire chest swell with flowers, with bloody petals and it’s impossible to breathe and that doesn’t matter, not when Shiro is crying. He hugs him as tight as he dares, his body’s reaction fully visceral— he doesn’t know what Shiro is crying for, but his heart is ready to mourn with him. 

Keith can’t recall a time he’s seen Shiro outright cry. He curls his arms around Shiro, half-expecting him to shrug him off. Instead, Shiro heaves a breath and turns into him, pressing his face into Keith’s shoulder. He can feel how scrunched up his face is, how desperately he’s trying to hold back his reaction. His hands settle at Keith’s back and cling, gripping tight to his shirt.

“I’m… cured, Keith,” Shiro says in a quiet voice. Keith nearly doesn’t hear it.

“What?” Keith asks, before he can stop himself, the word punching out of him. 

Shiro can’t answer right away, clinging to him. So Keith bows into him, presses his cheek to the crown of Shiro’s head and strokes his back. He tries to keep his breathing slow and even, ignores the hiccups of coughs that he swallows back down. He runs his hands over Shiro, rubbing slow circles down his spine. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, his voice low and throaty. “It’s alright.”

He lets Shiro cry. He’s a quiet sort of crier, subtle and silent. His shoulders shaking and his bowed head are the only things to betray his upset. He clings to Keith.

When finally Shiro draws away, it’s to wipe at his eyes one last time and cast Keith a wobbly, uncertain smile. Before Keith can stop himself, he touches Shiro’s cheek. Shiro’s eyelashes are clumped together by tears when he closes his eyes, leaning into that touch tentatively. 

“I’m cured,” Shiro says, quietly. “My disease. It’s just— gone.” 

Keith’s mouth falls open, his heart leaping into his throat. “But— how?” 

“The doctors think it has something to do with when I was cloned,” Shiro says, quiet. “What use does Haggar have of a weapon that’ll deteriorate, right?” 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers, lifting his other hand to touch Shiro’s cheek, cupping his face now. “You’re not a weapon.”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, faintly, and Keith knows he doesn’t quite believe him— but wants to. His breath rattles out of him as he breathes, his eyes swimming with tears. “God. I can’t remember the last time I cried.”

“It’s alright,” Keith says, thumbs swiping over his cheeks. “Shiro… this is a lot. It’s understandable that you need to process it.”

Shiro nods a little, closing his eyes. A few stray tears slip out, his face twisted up, and Keith steadily swipes them away with his thumbs. He watches Shiro’s face, every shift, every sniffle. His lips wobble. 

His smile is tentative, disbelieving, when he whispers, “I’m going to grow old.” 

Keith bites back a cry of his own at it, the quiet wonder in Shiro’s voice far more devastating than the words themselves. Keith ducks his head and coughs, just a small little heave, just a small little flower. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says, his voice shaky. “It’s— kind of crappy of me to talk about this when you’re sick, too.” 

Keith shakes his head, scooting closer and dropping his hands to curl his arms around Shiro’s neck, hugging him. Obediently, Shiro’s arms wrap around his waist and hold. 

“You’re going to grow old,” Keith agrees. He always believed it, belligerently— nothing is going to happen to Shiro. He’s said it again and again, believed it, made sure it was true. But hearing Shiro say this now—

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers, his voice wobbly. 

Shiro hugs him, his arms firm around Keith’s middle. It almost hurts, to be held this tight and this close, but Keith wouldn’t pull away for anything. 

“It’s strange,” Shiro confesses. “I… spent too long knowing this was just a part of me. And now it’s not. It’s just gone.” 

Keith nods, pressing his chin against Shiro’s shoulder, his hands thrumming down his back, tracing the line of his spine. Shiro’s grip on him is tight, his arms sure and steady around him. Keith understands the feeling, at least in part— there’s so much about himself that he knows, inherently, are his own. He’d once assumed, taken for granted, that he was fully Human. He can understand the shock, if in a different context. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Keith confesses.

Shiro chuckles, low and quiet and watery. One hand cups the back of Keith’s head, holding him close. 

“You don’t have to say anything, Keith. Just you being here is enough.” 

Keith nods even as he feels that it’s inadequate, that he should be doing more. He holds Shiro tight against him and refuses to let go until the tears stop shimmering in Shiro’s eyes. 

 

-

 

Shiro’s worry for Keith has nowhere to go but out. When he gets the chance, between meetings with Iverson for the Atlas and visiting Keith whenever he can, Shiro throws himself into exercise. He tapes his human hand up and absolutely pummels a punching bag. 

He’s been favoring his left arm more and more for such things, since a well-placed punch from his Altean hand will splinter the punching bag into nothing. He alternates between hooks and jabs with kicks, flexing up and slamming his foot into the bag. It wheezes and flings itself around in response to his relentless punches. 

He doesn’t stop until he feels exhausted, sweat on his brow, his body thrumming with energy. 

“Woah,” Lance says when he makes the mistake of approaching Shiro and nearly gets a swinging punching bag to the face for his troubles. “I think if you go any harder, you’re going to hit this thing out a window, Shiro.”

And Shiro’s immediate thought is, _I can’t stop._

It’s another thing he’s getting used to. He’s spent his entire life _going_ , _pushing_ , _unrelenting_. Faster, faster, more, more. He didn’t have time. He didn’t have the opportunity or luxury of slowing down, of relenting, of being anything other than in peak condition and thriving. It would all disappear so quickly. 

The thought comes to him now, unbidden, _I have time._

His hands reach out and steady the punching bag. It swings with a weak whine from the chain holding it up and then stills. Shiro’s fingers flex against the material, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face.

He has time. He’ll grow old. He won’t be forced to retire young. 

He could take a day off, if he wanted, not having to worry if one day off would turn into two, would turn into a thousand more, would turn into eternity and atrophy. 

His breathing is heavy and his body starts to shake. He’s alive. He’s going to stay alive. Of course, the irony being that they’re preparing to launch themselves into space in a few months’ time and he could die at any given moment for unnatural causes. But natural? Shiro’s lifespan has suddenly tripled, at least. 

The world feels far too open to him. He can’t thank Haggar for it, for being the cause of all this— but it’s a strange reality he has to learn to accept. He’s cured. He’s alive. It’s because of her utterly stealing his autonomy that he’ll keep living. 

He isn’t used to it, has spent far too many years feeling like the world was walled off to him. And now, it could all be his. Everything. 

Life. A long-lasting career. Freedom. The stars. Love. 

A future. 

His chest feels tight. He forces himself to breathe, flat-out _refuses_ to cry in a public setting. He’s already cried enough in his life, already cried enough recently in Keith’s arms. 

Lance is done warming up, shaking out his limbs. He’s still favoring his right side, his left leg still slightly injured, but he grins at Shiro, hopping from foot to foot like a nervous boxer. “Want to spar?”

Shiro gives him a pitying look and then can’t help but smile. “Think you can keep up?” 

Lance punches the air a few times and says, chipper and popping his ‘p’ around his delighted, “Nope!” 

But Shiro relents and drags Lance out onto the mat. He goes easier on him than he would working out on his own, but he has _time_. He doesn’t have to push himself so hard. It’s a strange thought, and it doesn’t quite sit right in his chest— reeks of laziness, or what he perceives to be his own laziness.

Still, he swipes lazily at Lance to let him duck around. He’s sure on his feet, nervous and jittery, but using it to his advance to squirm out of Shiro’s sweeping moves. Shiro’s more used to fighting Keith— used to sparring him. Used to— Well. He doesn’t want to think about their fight. 

Doesn’t want to think of all the ways and all the times Keith could have died. He’s always known he would die before his friends and now, suddenly, _that isn’t the case._ Lance could die before him, tomorrow. Lance could trip over the mat and crack his head open. Any of them could die at any moment. _Keith._

Keith, falling from the sky. Keith, coughing up flowers and waiting for a cure. 

While Shiro’s distracted with his thoughts, Lance gets a punch in, catching Shiro just on the side of his jaw. Lance squawks and hisses, yanking his hand back and shaking his fist out. 

“Is your face made of metal, too?” Lance asks, aghast. His hand will likely swell up, Shiro thinks. 

Shiro forces a laugh, rubbing his jaw, and says, “Punching someone in the face always hurts the puncher more, just so you know.”

And then he ducks in and catches Lance hard in the shoulder, pinning him down to the ground. Lance squirms and squawks but yields once it’s clear that Shiro’s not about to move. 

Sparring Lance devolves to training Lance, after that. Lance favors the sharpshooting, but practical hand-to-hand can’t hurt, and Shiro focuses on that, doesn’t let his mind wander, no matter how stubbornly his thoughts try to wade out towards Keith. 

 

-

 

“And then you just add in a few pinches of Reltyvian Flashpepper and you’ll be all set,” Allura says, triumphant. “… Of course, Earth doesn’t _have_ any flashpepper, so I’ve managed to find the best equivalent!” 

She holds up a bottle of hot sauce for Shiro to inspect. He takes it tentatively in his hand and stares at it. 

“Allura, this has ghost pepper in it,” Shiro says, cautiously. 

“Yes, as far as I can discern, your Earth ghost pepper is the closest you have to Reltyv’s peppers,” Allura says, beaming. 

Shiro watches in quiet horror as Allura pours a generous helping of the hot sauce into the stew she’s making, another attempt at a home remedy for Keith. Shiro privately hopes this will help Keith and not just completely obliterate his mouth. But maybe that’s the point, if the point is to relieve any pain from coughing up flowers. Hot sauce will do that. 

“I’m not sure why you’re asking me to help,” Shiro says, tentatively, staring down at the chopping board where he’s been tasked for the last forty minutes with chopping up ginger (the Earth replacement for Elbanist Thyme). “I’m, uh, not that great at cooking, you know. Hunk might have been a better choice.” 

Allura’s expression is unbearably gentle when she looks at him, that kind of understanding that always serves to leave Shiro utterly exposed. He stares down at his knife, picking it back up and chopping into the ginger. He’s a horrible cook, but he knows how important it is not to take your eyes off a knife. 

“I can tell how worried you are,” Allura tells him, gentle. “We’re all worried for Keith, of course. But you…” 

Shiro chops into the ginger. He hasn’t told the others yet about his own medical miracle, and he isn’t sure how to phrase it— most of them didn’t even know he was sick to begin with, after all. Everyone’s focused on and worried about Keith. Pidge has willingly spent most of her afternoons locked up with her mom working on the Earth-based cure for Keith’s Windflower. Lance and Hunk have been visiting a lot to keep Keith entertained and distracted. Allura and Coran have been making the remedies from Altea, adapted from the Galran home remedies and now adapted for Earth. 

And he—

Well. He knows it’s not the time to focus on himself. He can sit on his own news until Keith is better. 

“We all know how special Keith is to you,” Allura says and Shiro nearly slices through his finger when he jolts in surprise. 

“I—” he begins and cuts off, blushing. “Keith’s my friend. He’s all our friend.” 

“Of course,” Allura agrees. Her fingertips touch Shiro’s wrist, stilling his nervous chopping. She waits until Shiro looks up at her before she smiles, kind. “But I don’t think anyone would deny that what you two have is special, Shiro.” 

Shiro manages a small, half smile before he glances away. He can’t fault Allura for talking to him about this— everyone is worried for Keith, and it’s dominated almost everyone’s conversations as of late. Things are stalled elsewhere, what with no progress on discovering the source powering the robeast and preparing the Atlas for the eventual deep space mission is slow-moving at best. Keith is more pressing, more immediate: and they all love Keith, of course. 

He sighs, setting down the knife completely before he accidentally manages to stab his thigh or something equally as unlikely. He rubs a hand at the back of his neck, biting his lip. 

The truth is, a tentative thought has niggled at the back of his mind for days now. It felt like an old, revisited thought as he puzzled over it and— Shiro wonders if perhaps he’s been thinking about it for a long time without realizing it. The problem, of course, is that the person Shiro would usually talk to about all this is also the person he’s been overthinking about. 

More and more, he’s wondering if what he feels for Keith is really just friendship. He thinks of the way he felt, visiting each Paladin in their hospital room, before any of them woke up— remembers the desperation he felt seeing Keith alone. 

He told himself it’s because Keith is his best friend. But maybe he isn’t so sure. 

Maybe it’s the euphoria of knowing he has a future, suddenly, that maybe his actions could be worth it. He’d discussed a future with Adam, once, but it’d been a tentative thing that ultimately fell apart, a small part of Shiro always knowing he wouldn’t be worth the effort of marriage or longevity. 

Now? He’s alive. And he’s going to stay alive. Shiro’s not sure he’ll ever be able to wrap his head around it— thinks he’ll be sixty and still disbelieving. He can’t even imagine what he’d look like at sixty— he never had to consider that before. 

A lot of things have fallen into perspective for Shiro, lately. Least of all being forced to witness Keith nearly die and now the prospect of another death, of Keith sick. 

Shiro’s cured. He’s never had to consider that before— a life that stretches beyond the age of thirty. He feels stronger every day and it’s exhilarating and terrifying to realize that it’s not going to go away. That a life he thought would wind down and deteriorate might still flourish and expand. 

That the stars aren’t as far beyond his reach as he once feared. 

And Keith—

“I believe the gingar is cut up enough,” Allura says, scooping the ginger up. 

Shiro startles from his thoughts. He watches her sprinkle in the pulpy ginger and then stir it all up. His eyes water from the wafts of ghost pepper eking out. He wipes his eyes. 

“I hope this will help Keith,” Allura says, stirring and seemingly unaffected by the waves of heat drifting through the kitchen. “Windflower is… painful. A love unexpressed is painful.”

“A what?” 

Allura stills for a moment and then looks at him, frowning and then biting her lip. “Well… on Altea, we had a similar disorder. It wasn’t just unrequited love, necessarily, but a love that had been left to grow within. Or, at least that’s what people said to justify why it’s flowers— when we leave our feelings unexpressed, it has nowhere to go and must become something else.” 

Shiro’s not sure if he’s ever going to get used to the strange mix of magic and science the universe exists within. He’s grown up fully in science and this—

“Is that what’s happening for Keith?” Shiro asks, his voice frantic. “This is because he’s— in love with someone?” 

Something cold and twisted leaps in his chest, coiling and tightening around his heart. He can’t focus on it, his eyes skittering over Allura’s face. 

Allura turns towards him with a contemplative look, studying him. He feels juts as exposed as he feels whenever Krolia looks at him. Whenever Keith looks at him, sometimes, like he’s trying to puzzle out something he already instinctively and deeply understands. Keith has always understood him and—

How could Shiro have missed that Keith was in love with someone? 

“Shiro,” Allura says, and there’s something like disbelief in her voice. “I thought you knew.” 

Shiro feels too cold, suddenly. Something’s washed away from inside him, never to return— something else lost. Keith nearly died. Keith is dying. Keith is in love with someone. 

“I… No. I didn’t,” Shiro says, faintly. 

Allura touches his arm and squeezes, doesn’t press him. “Let’s bring Keith the soup, shall we?” 

 

-

 

Keith stares down into the bowl in his lap. 

“Uh,” he says. “What is this?” 

“It’s an Altean home remedy that Shiro and I put together,” Allura informs him. “Shiro was a great help in the kitchen.” 

“ _Shiro_? A help?” Keith snorts and looks up to cast a smirk in Shiro’s direction. Shiro looks back at him and offers a tentative smile, but there’s a strain to his eyes that Keith can’t place. 

Something squeezes inside his chest, but rather than cough up more flowers and upset the two of them, he ducks his head and takes a large spoonful of the soup. It burns across his tongue and he wants to cough for reasons other than flowers, but he swallows through it. Once the burn seers away, the taste itself is rather pleasant. 

“Huh,” he says. 

Allura perks up, clapping her hands together. “Do you like it?” 

“It’s actually pretty good,” Keith says. Allura beams and Shiro looks legitimately shocked. Keith smiles at him. “Thank you.” 

“… You’re welcome,” Shiro says, his voice gentle. Then he clears his throat and says, “But, I mean, it was mostly Allura. I just helped.” 

Keith laughs and eats the soup under both Allura’s and Shiro’s watchful eyes. Once he’s finished, he makes a big show of displaying the empty bowl to them, smiling. “Did I pass the test?” 

“I honestly can’t believe you just ate so much ghost pepper,” Shiro mutters. 

Keith shrugs. He’d detected the spice, but. “I like spicy things, I guess.” 

“Would you like some more?” Allura asks. “It’s meant to help suppress your cough and numb the airway, so if you’re still in pain—”

“More would be great,” Keith agrees. “I can get it myself, though.” 

“Nonsense, you should be resting,” Allura insists, plucking the bowl from Keith’s hands and taking a step back. “Shiro, why don’t you stay here and keep him company? I won’t be long.” 

They watch her both go before they can respond. Shiro remains standing, awkward for a moment, before he looks down and takes a deep breath. Keith watches him, curious, as Shiro strides to his side and sits down, peering at him.

“How are you feeling?” Keith asks when Shiro opens his mouth. 

He snaps it closed for a moment and then he laughs, looking helpless. “I was about to ask you that.” 

Keith smiles back. “I asked first.” 

“I’m okay, Keith,” Shiro answers, his mouth hinting a smile. “I’m just worried about you.” 

Keith hums. He nudges his elbow against Shiro’s side but Shiro doesn’t take the bait to shove at him, as he usually would do, so Keith sighs and settles so their arms are pressed together, a long line of heat. 

“I’ll be fine, Shiro. They’re working on a cure,” Keith assures him, not for the first time. “I mean, if anything, I’m getting weird back pain which I didn’t expert. Mom says it’s because that’s where the flowers start growing. Somehow. I don’t know.” 

“Space magic,” Shiro mutters.

“Exactly.” 

They sit in silence. Keith watches Shiro’s profile, the flex of his jaw, the furrow of his brow. 

“Hey… Tell me what’s on your mind,” he encourages, after a moment. 

He watches Shiro’s eyes flicker to him, not surprised but accepting, and his smile curves into something a little more strained, painful. 

“… I’ve been so worried about you,” Shiro admits, voice quiet. “The Lions. This disease. All of this— I feel like I haven’t been able to help you at all.” 

Keith’s heart squeezes. “Hey,” he whispers. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, right?” 

“I know we’re at war,” Shiro’s quick to say, dismissing himself. “I know that there’s— I mean, there’s been so many ways in which all of us could have been hurt or died. I alrea—” He cuts off, the unspoken heavy between them. “All of you are in danger because of me, all the time. I guess it was easy to ignore how many times all of you have almost died until now.” 

Keith’s heart pounds around the reminder of Shiro’s death, thinking of all that time Shiro spent alone, in the long expanse of the astral plane. He hates it, the way his entire body turns to ice.

“You’ve had a lot to deal with,” Keith assures him. He can’t imagine what it must be like for Shiro, to be faced with so much in so short a time— the Atlas awakening, the fight to free Earth again, all those that were lost. The Paladins’ fall and now Keith’s disease in conjunction with Shiro’s cure. It’s a lot. 

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” Shiro confesses. His voice is tiny, uncertain, and he glances up at Keith and meets his eyes. 

Keith’s heart aches. He lets go of Shiro’s hands only to reach out to him. He curls his arms around his shoulders and tugs. Shiro lets out a breath and bows into him, pressing to him as Keith hugs him. They hug for a long moment, saying nothing. Keith lets out a little cough and then buries his face against Shiro’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Shiro’s hand tightens at his hip. 

Keith closes his eyes and lets himself feel Shiro pressed to him. There’s any number of things he could say to him—

 _I love you,_ for one. _You’ll never really lose me._

“Shiro,” he says instead, pulling back to meet his eyes. “We’re going to make it out of this war. I promise.” 

Shiro nods and draws away from the hug. They sit there together and Keith thinks the moment has passed, that Shiro is reassured. But Shiro fiddles again, brow furrowed. 

“Allura said… this is all caused because of your feelings,” Shiro says, quiet, after a moment and Keith’s entire body turns to ice. He tenses up enough that Shiro, frowning, turns towards him, eyebrows pinching together. “Keith…” 

Keith swallows. His entire throat is full of flowers. He knows. He knows. He knows—

_He knows._

“That’s right,” he hears himself say, his voice wooden, “Before the Galra developed a cure, the only way to cure this was to… confess to the person you love.” 

It feels like he’s left his body. Sitting here with the man he loves, talking about that love— the rejected, unrequited love. He knows Shiro too much to even believe Shiro’s bringing it up for anything other than care and concern for him. He _knows_ that Shiro cares about him—

As a friend. As a brother. 

He takes a deep, steadying breath— and it ripples away into a savage series of coughs. He bends down, heaving, and Shiro’s hands touch his back and hold. It should be a comfort, but Keith’s body is made of blood and flowers and nothing else but a sad, unexpressed love and—

He kicks at the flowers on the floor with his boot, clenching his eyes shut.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, miserable, his hands on Keith’s shoulders. 

Shiro’s staring at the flowers spread out over the floor.

“You—” Shiro starts and stops. He’s still for a moment, his shoulders tense enough that they nearly meet his ears. “Why haven’t you _said anything_?” 

Keith’s heart flips in his chest and plummets down to his stomach. “Shiro… I didn’t— I didn’t want you to worry. It doesn’t matter. There’s a cure.” 

“You’re _in pain_ , Keith,” Shiro protests. “Of course it matters!” 

“Shiro,” Keith says again, quieter. He shifts and reaches out, his hand touching his knee. 

Shiro stills, but his expression is devastated, his mouth pulled into a deep frown. Keith blinks a few times and swallows back the flowers again, muffling a small cough that makes Shiro look even more like he’s been punched in the face. 

“Why haven’t… why haven’t you said it? How you feel?” Shiro asks, voice quiet. 

Keith closes his eyes, feeling the pinprick of tears that threaten to spring there at the thought. 

“I did.” _Don’t you remember?_ Keith wants to ask, but he just shakes his head. “I— I think doing so is what triggered this.” He shrugs, helpless. “It’s okay. There’s a cure.” 

He keeps saying that. Maybe if he keeps saying it, it’ll be true— and this won’t hurt so much. 

“I don’t want to say it again and…” His smile tilts up, but it’s an unhappy smile. “And make it an obligation to accept. ‘Love me or else I’ll die,’ you know?” 

“Rejecting you— whoever did that is an idiot,” Shiro says, voice dark, head bowed. 

Keith puzzles over that for a moment, staring at Shiro’s bowed head. It’s almost instinct that fuels him forward, reaching out to touch Shiro’s chin and lift his face up so their eyes can meet. Shiro’s eyes shimmer, his mouth twisted into a frown. 

Keith lets his hand linger before he drops it away. 

“No,” Keith says, quiet, “he isn’t.” 

Shiro frowns at him, something darkening in his expression. His eyes flicker away for only half a moment before he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and looks back at Keith again. Keith doesn’t let his gaze waver. 

“He owes me nothing,” Keith continues, voice steady. “And this is _not_ his fault. Do you understand, Shiro?” 

Shiro’s quiet for a long moment, blinking at him. Then something settles in his eyes. “Keith—”

“It will _never_ be your fault,” Keith insists and watches Shiro’s eyes widen, his entire face turn pink. He frowns at the reaction. 

“What—” Shiro starts, voice hushed and breathless. 

Keith looks away, hand dropping to Shiro’s knee again and squeezing. Shiro stills and goes silent. Keith smiles and stands. 

“I’m going to go see where Allura got off to with that soup,” he says, quickly, and knows he’s running, but— well. He doesn’t need the confirmation. 

“Keith—”

But Keith’s already out the door. Shiro could follow him, probably, if only by tracing his footsteps by the flowers he leaves in his wake, coughing into his hand as he hurries towards the kitchen. 

 

-

 

The wake of Keith’s confession leaves Shiro utterly shattered. He doesn’t know how to process it, how to steer into a renavigation away from _Keith is in love with someone who doesn’t love him back_ to—

Keith is in love with _him._

Nothing helps to distract him or ease his mind. The gym offers nothing but fruitless frustration. Paperwork is impossible to complete. Iverson gets so agitated with his mood, he dismisses him outright. 

He can’t even get into his own room properly. He punches in the code several times and the door refuses to budge. Instead of the cheerful, welcoming chirp, it blurts at him in an obnoxious restriction. Shiro punches it in again. Again. Again. Nothing. 

He slams his fist down and the thing lets out a unhappy crunch, then locks him out entirely. He’d used his Altean hand, nearly crushing the door input receiver. He’s trembling and has no source for it. 

He turns and heads towards the labs. Colleen and Pidge both look up when he enters. Colleen smiles and Pidge takes one look at his face and huffs out a breath. 

“You’re not going to be productive at all,” Pidge says. 

Colleen is far more accommodating, giving Pidge a wary look before turning to Shiro. “I could use a second pair of hands, if you’re hoping for something to do.”

Shiro nods and steps forward. Stretched out on Colleen’s work table sits a collection of Galran Windflower. He frowns down at them, his hand clenching at his side despite himself. 

“It’s a shame that they’re so beautiful yet so destructive,” Colleen says, but then she’s always had that fascination with plants. Pidge gags behind her.

“Gross, Mom. Those were inside my friend!” she protests. Collen shushes her. 

“Go back to trimming the pine saplings. I’ll need their needles.” 

Pidge rolls her eyes and wanders off, grumbling to herself about better things to do. Shiro knows it’s just for show and to annoy her mother, knows that Pidge is just as worried about Keith as everyone else. But still he feels agitated, too. Like he’s going to shake out of his skin.

Keith loves him. 

Keith loves him and that’s what caused the flowers in the first place. _He’s_ what caused the flowers in the first place. 

“Why don’t you help me pull these petals off. I need to synthesize their DNA,” Colleen tells him, kindly. 

Shiro nods and sets to the task, grateful to give his hands something to do. He feels clumsy and uncoordinated, but once Colleen stops observing him, it’s a bit easier. He plucks each petal off, as carefully as he’s able. He doesn’t know what to do with the central bud, once he’s finished, and so he sets them aside.

He pushes the petals into the separating liquid and muddles it together, so the strands of DNA start collecting on the oily surface. 

“… I guess I don’t love him back,” he says, to himself, staring down at the evidence of Keith’s disease. 

There’s disappointment in his gut. If it’s unrequited love, then that means he doesn’t feel that way about Keith. His hands tremble and he presses them down against the workbench, flattening them out. 

“I don’t love him back,” he says again, testing the words out, but it doesn’t feel right. Of _course_ he loves Keith; Keith is the one person in the entire universe who’s stood by him, who’s understood him since the very beginning. Even when Kerberos was his biggest dream, something he was striving for, Keith never saw him as anything other than Shiro. He could just be himself around Keith. He’s never been able to tell Keith how much that meant to him.

“Did you say something, Shiro?” Colleen calls from the other end of the work bench and Shiro shakes his head, apologetically. 

“I do love him,” he tells the flowers, but of course they don’t respond. 

Keith is his best friend. Keith is so important to him that Shiro struggles, often, to express it at all— pours all his care for Keith into his actions. Maybe that isn’t enough. 

“I love him.” 

Clearly it wasn’t enough— Keith is sick and it’s Shiro’s fault. 

 

-

 

Shiro heaves a sigh as he knocks, one last time, on Keith’s door. There’s no sound coming from the room and so it figures that Keith isn’t there. Still, he’s missed him again. 

When he turns, Krolia is down the hall, watching him. He nearly startles— she’s quiet, far quieter than Keith. 

“You don’t look like you’ve been resting,” Krolia announces as she approaches him, her eyes bright. She looks so much like Keith in that moment that it physically aches inside of Shiro. 

She grasps his shoulder, turns him, and starts leading him towards his room. 

“Uh—” he begins.

“You need to sleep,” Krolia decides. Shiro’s door code is still broken from his punch a few days prior and so the door whooshes open as Shiro and Krolia approach. She doesn’t even pause as she leads him inside and all but shoves him to sit down on his bed. 

He blinks up at her, unable to process it. He isn’t used to someone noticing, other than Keith perhaps, much less to actually force him to rest. Such a thing, when he was younger, used to annoy him tremendously. Now, it’s like something’s plucking at the nostalgia inside of him— Shiro has no memories of his parents, but his grandfather told him once that they had to force their toddler into bed every night, because all he wanted to do was keep playing. It feels similar now. 

He looks up at Krolia. He tries not to sound petulant when he says, “I’ve been resting.” 

“You hardly look it,” she says, and stares at him until he guiltily reaches down and unlaces his boots. He slips out of them and she looks satisfied. “Sleep. Things will be better and clearer in the morning.” 

Shiro wants to get her to stay, wants to ask her everything he can— to seek some sort of clarity, to seek some sort of comfort. But he knows he can’t. Not simply because Krolia intimidates him just a little, but because it isn’t his right or his place. By all accounts, Krolia should be angry with him for hurting Keith. And Krolia, no matter how motherly she might act, is not his mother. 

“Rest,” she says again, arms crossed. “Working long days as you do is not healthy.” 

Again, another reminder of the ways in which Shiro can now reshape his life. He doesn’t have to keep fighting every step of the way, running against the clock. He has time. He could get a good night’s sleep.

“Thank you,” he says, and means it. 

Her mouth hints a smile when she says, “Of course.” 

_I think I love your son,_ Shiro wants to say. _But I don’t know what to do._

He can guess how well _that_ would go over, and bites at the inside of his cheek. _I think I love your son but if I love him, why does he cough up flowers?_

He says none of this, but something must show on his face. Krolia studies him with such deep sincerity and intensity that it’s almost overwhelming. She tilts her head. 

She says, quiet, as she looks at Shiro: “All will be well.” 

And he wants to believe her.

A love unexpressed, Allura had called it. Shiro frowns and lies down at Krolia’s bidding. Even once she leaves, he doesn’t fall asleep, staring up at his ceiling, puzzling it over. 

Maybe he has to say it to Keith. 

 

-

 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Shiro asks when he finds Allura in the kitchen a few days later, stewing up a new version of her home remedy. It’s been nagging him for days, the calm words she said, her knowledge of the disease. 

She looks up at him and has the kindness not to belittle him by pretending she doesn’t know exactly what he means. Her eyes lower for a moment, studying the whirlpool of the murky soup she’s brewing for Keith. 

“When I transported your soul from the Black Lion back into your body,” she says, after a moment, voice kind and gentle and soothing, which is a kindness in itself because Shiro feels like he’s about to shake apart, “Our souls embodied my body at once. I felt— not everything, but many things. Strong emotions, fears, memories— I felt it all in a moment as if it were my own.” 

She sets down the spoon and turns towards him.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything before. I was unsure how to tell you such a thing,” she confesses. “It is— an invasion of your privacy. I’m sorry.” 

Shiro shakes his head, shutting the door behind him and coming into the room to stand in front of her. “You felt— you saw—”

“You do not know your own feelings,” Allura says. “But… they’re there.” She looks down and then up to him, touching his arm gently. “But I did not need to know your thoughts in order to know how Keith feels. It’s— very much clear to many, Shiro.” 

Shiro laughs, a quiet, broken thing. “Not to me, apparently.” 

Allura doesn’t say anything, not platitudes or condemnation. And he’s grateful for that. Through it all, Allura has been a good friend to him— and she proves just as much in this moment when she merely squeezes his arm and waits for him to speak. 

“I mean, he said he… he said he cared about me,” Shiro says, quietly. “But it was in a really intense moment. And—”

Shiro swallows down, fights down the bile that always rises whenever he thinks about that day on the clone facility. Every cruel thing he said and did, thrown back in his face. The sheer determination he had to kill Keith. He remembers exactly what it felt like, knows exactly what it feels like to hate the person he cares for most in the entire universe. 

How Keith never blamed him for any of that. No matter how much Shiro didn’t deserve forgiveness— it isn’t a matter of forgiveness; in Keith’s eyes, there was never anything to forgive.

“Keith never says anything he doesn’t mean,” Shiro continues. “But it was— a really intense moment and… and he hadn’t said anything about it since.” 

_He never brought it up because you never brought it up, idiot,_ he realizes, belatedly. He never brought it up because he _thought he’d been rejected._

“Shiro,” Allura says, gently, “The things that you hold against yourself might blind you to what you know you want… but please. Know that they are not true.” 

“I know,” Shiro says. He knows exactly what Allura means. If she once held his soul within her, knows all the darker, louder thoughts that scrape through him in his darkest moments, then she also knows that he _knows_ they’re not true. But it doesn’t stop him from feeling it. 

“Keith loves you,” Allura says and Shiro closes his eyes, sucking in a shuddering breath. 

“He’ll never believe me now,” Shiro says, more to himself. If Keith believes an acceptance of his feelings is born from guilt, from obligation, then—

Well. He’s missed his chance. 

But Keith loves him. 

It’s strange, really, to think of himself as someone loveable, valuable. He’s spent so long believing himself broken, believing himself a weapon. In that moment at the clone facility, fighting with every fiber of his being to murder Keith, he _was_ a weapon. 

And still Keith reached for him. Still Keith cried out his love for him. 

_As a brother,_ he once told himself— again and again and again. He sees him as a brother.

_You are broken. You are a monster. You are sick and dying and everyone who might ever love you will leave you eventually—_

_You are not worth loving._

_You are not worth it._

Allura’s hand is a steady presence on his arm. She is quiet. She waits. Shiro takes in a deep breath, expression crumbling. 

Keith, falling from Black’s mouth to slash down Sendak. 

Keith, refusing to let Shiro go at the clone facility, even if it meant his own life. 

Keith, crashing back down to Earth— almost lost to him forever. 

Keith, coughing out flowers because he believes himself unloved. 

“If you fear he will not believe you,” Allura says, gently, when Shiro opens his eyes again. “Then perhaps it is necessary to show him, beyond doubt.” 

 

-

 

After an hour long meeting with Colleen and Krolia on the progress of the cure— ready by tomorrow, Colleen informed them happily— Keith’s exhausted and ready to sleep. 

He turns the corner and Shiro’s standing outside his door, leaning against the wall, waiting. 

Keith freezes. He sees the moment Shiro senses his presence, when he lifts his head and looks in his direction— their eyes meeting down the hallway. 

It never occurs to Keith to turn and walk away. True, he’s been avoiding Shiro— but he’s tired. He takes a step and then he’s walking towards his door, and Shiro. He never was able to avoid things for long— never was able to walk away from Shiro. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” Shiro’s mouth twitches in a hopeful little smile. “I— I wasn’t sure if I’d see you today.” 

“Just got back from the lab,” Keith answers. “The cure’ll be ready by tomorrow or the day after, at the latest.” 

Something eases in Shiro’s expression and his shoulders slump. “That’s— really good news, Keith.” 

There’s a silence then. Keith looks down. “Sorry.” 

“No,” Shiro says, quietly. “You don’t need to apologize to me, remember?” 

Shiro shifts and takes a step towards him. Keith takes a deep breath and looks up, meeting his eyes. He startles a little when Shiro reaches out, tentatively, and takes his hand. His hold is loose, and Keith’s hand is small in the expanse of Shiro’s Altean hand. But Keith doesn’t draw it back. 

“How are you feeling?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shrugs. He’s gotten far too used to this question now. He knows better than to lie, so he says, “My back hurts again. But what else is new?” 

He looks down at their hands. His throat tickles with flowers, but not nearly as awful as it has been since this whole thing started. He looks up at Shiro again, holding his gaze. 

“Will you come with me?” Shiro asks. “There’s something I want to show you. And— and I think we should talk.” 

Dread settles in Keith’s stomach but he nods all the same. He can deny Shiro nothing. 

Shiro tugs on his hand and starts walking. He doesn’t let go and Keith doesn’t try to, either. It isn’t the first time they’ve had casual intimacy, but in the wake of what Keith’s said, it feels purposeful. The dread twists in his gut. He lets Shiro lead the way. 

They turn down the hallways towards Shiro’s quarters. Instead of entering, though, Shiro pauses just outside the door, his hand not rising to input the code. The display looks broken, Keith thinks, as he glances at it. Keith lifts his brows and looks up at him to find Shiro staring into space, contemplative. 

“Shiro?” he prompts.

Shiro just heaves a sigh, quiet for a long moment before he turns back towards him. “Keith.” 

Keith watches in a daze as Shiro starts to blush. 

“I had this all planned out and now it feels stupid,” Shiro says. “But, uh. I think I did it right? I spent all day doing this, so.” 

“What?” 

Instead of answering, Shiro turns and punches in his door code and the doors whoosh open. Keith knows Shiro’s quarters well enough— just a larger version of the Paladins’— but he’s a little stunned to see it covered head to toe in an array of blankets and pillows. 

He doesn’t really know what to make of it as Shiro tugs him inside enough that the doors shut behind them. Keith studies the expansive structure with an appreciative frown. Shiro is, after all, extremely tactical and mindful, so it makes sense that a pillow fort he’d build would be well-constructed. There are towers of pillows holding up large quilts, and an opening structured much like a doorway, made of cushions and pillows.

He gives Shiro a puzzled look. Shiro’s looking at him expectantly. 

“Are we twelve?” Keith asks him. 

Shiro wilts a bit, blushing. “It’s— a Galra… Mating Bower?” 

“Excuse me?” Keith deadpans.

“Please don’t make me say it again.” 

“I’ve never even heard of that,” Keith says, and then laughs. “It looks like a blanket fort to me.” 

Shiro gives him a little smile, nervous. “Maybe I didn’t build it right…” He turns back to frown at it. “I made your mom describe it and—”

“My mom told you to build a pillow fort?” Keith interrupts. He wonders if he tripped in the hallway and bashed his head, because none of this is making much sense. Shiro still hasn’t let go of his hand, though, which tethers him to the waking world. No, he’s awake. But Shiro’s acting weird. 

“Uh.” Shiro pauses, frowning. He sighs. “Just get in the bower with me, Keith.” 

“You mean pillow fort?” Keith asks, definitely teasing now. He elbows Shiro in the side. He’s glad he can tease at all— glad for the easy, casual feeling between them. 

Shiro is his friend. He’ll always be his friend, no matter what. 

He lets Shiro tug him forward, though, and obediently kneels down and crawls inside the pillow fort at Shiro’s urging. His back tweaks a little at the movement, but he doesn’t start coughing. Inside, it’s cozy but larger than Keith expected, the blankets draped high enough that while standing up straight is out of the question, there’s enough room to move and settle and get comfortable. The ground is padded with mats and cushions, and the back corner against Shiro’s wall is stacked high with pillows and blankets. It looks exceptionally cozy. 

Keith turns to look at Shiro over his shoulder as Shiro crawls in after him. “I know Galra look like cats, but we’re not actually cats. We don’t have to hide away in boxes. You know that, right?” 

“Your mom told me to build this,” Shiro says again, red-faced. “This is the Mating Bower, then the nest within, and the comfort cloister—” 

“God, stop.” 

Shiro’s face is so red it looks like it’s about to pop. “And, uh, the courting den.” 

“Why?” 

“She said—” Shiro pauses, and then breathes out a shaky little sigh. He gestures for Keith to get comfortable and Keith flops into the larger, cushioned section. It’s nice on his back, once he settles. Keith lets out a small sigh. 

He looks at Shiro expectantly and waits until Shiro scoots over to sit beside him before he asks, “What did my mom say?” 

“She said this was… a common courtship ritual,” Shiro says, cautiously, studying Keith’s face.

The warmth building in Keith’s chest extinguishes immediately and he sits up. “Shiro—”

“I know. I remember what you said,” Shiro interrupts, voice gentle but earnest. “Keith… I’m not doing this just to— cure you. I swear. You said it yourself— you’ll get your cure tomorrow.” 

Keith squirms, unsettled. “Shiro,” he presses, quiet. “You really don’t have to do this.” 

His heart pounds in his chest. It makes no sense. He feels safe, comfortable surrounded by pillows, but Shiro’s words make no sense, and Shiro’s face ripples with concern as he looks at him. Keith closes his eyes, muffling a cough that rattles his chest. 

“I’m not going to let you do this,” Keith insists. 

“Keith,” Shiro protests.

“No.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Shiro… I know you love me. We’re friends. That’s been enough for me for a long time and that’s _still_ true. Do you think I— do you really think I’d want you to say you’re in love with me just to— to cure me? It won’t make it any better.” 

He snaps his eyes open when Shiro touches his shoulder, the touch gentle. Their eyes meet and hold. 

“I’ve been thinking about it the last few days,” Shiro says, “while I was building this. And— Listen. If it’s about having a love accepted, then wouldn’t you stay sick if I just said yes out of obligation rather than returning the feeling? So if I say it, it’ll only work if I mean it.” 

Keith turns his head and coughs, so that a little petal comes fluttering out. He gives Shiro a pointed look. 

“What if it doesn’t work?” Keith asks. “Why put us through that?” 

“I say it and you say it back. Have you considered that maybe you have to accept it, too?” Shiro asks. “Is it so hard to believe I could love you back?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Keith insists.

“Why?” 

Keith clamps his mouth shut, uncertain how to express it. He’s spent so long knowing his love was not returned, that he and Shiro were and always would be merely friends. 

“… I know you’ve already told me,” Shiro says. “But I— you and I both know I wasn’t myself. I… I didn’t realize. And I’m sorry.” 

His voice goes quiet at the end, guilt and regret slashing across his face. Keith’s heart twists and aches. Without thinking, he reaches up and touches Shiro’s cheek. It’s far too intimate, far too telling— but he’s already come this far. 

“This isn’t what I wanted,” Keith insists. “None of this is your fault, Shiro.” 

Shiro nods and then presses his cheek against Keith’s palm. Keith wonders if he should snatch his hand back but makes no move to do so. Instead, he lets his thumb ghost across his cheek, touching the corner of Shiro’s scar. 

“I want to say it, Keith.” Shiro’s voice is quiet. He looks at him, not moving away from Keith’s touch. “I want to say it and— and I want you to know you can say it back to me. But only if you want to. It doesn’t change how I feel.” 

Keith’s hand starts to tremble. 

Shiro lifts his hand and covers it with his own, keeping it pressed there. “I’m sorry it took me this long to realize.” 

Keith shakes his head. “You can’t really mean it.” 

“Is it so weird to think I do?” Shiro presses. 

Keith gives a hollow little nod. Shiro’s fingertips brush over his knuckles, trace the lines of his tendons. It’s so gentle that all of Keith aches. 

“I won’t say it, then,” Shiro tells him, his voice quiet and far away. His jaw clenches for a moment.

Something inside of Keith aches. He tells himself it’s relief. 

“I’ll wait,” Shiro decides. His eyes flash. “I’ll tell you once you’re cured.” 

Keith feels himself start to tremble. He manages a small nod. Shiro nods and they fall into a silence after that. Keith’s entire body feels like it’s about to shake apart, every inch of him bursting with flowers. The idea, the mere idea that Shiro could love him back—

It’s too much. It’s too impossible.

It’s the only thing Keith wants. He can’t pretend that. 

“I don’t… want this to be a reason you push me away,” Shiro confesses, quiet.

“ _Never_ ,” Keith answers, immediately. “I’ll never push you away, Shiro. You’re— we’re friends. We’re always going to be friends.” 

Relief ripples in Shiro’s eyes and Keith’s heart twists up, aching, to know that this could be something Shiro feared. 

“… I’m sorry I made you doubt that,” Keith whispers. 

“You didn’t.” Shiro shakes his head. “I just… I get in my own head. I don’t know.” 

Keith nods, understanding and accepting it. Shiro doesn’t have to explain. 

“… Lie down with me,” Keith says and shifts aside to make room for Shiro to stretch out on the pillows and cushions. He takes a look around, really drinking in the image of the fort rising above them, stretching out from the entrance. He can’t help the small laugh, strained but heartfelt. “I… I can’t believe you built me a pillow fort.”

He turns back towards Shiro. He’s tucked up beside Keith, chin resting on his propped up hand. He smiles at Keith and, helplessly, Keith smiles back. 

He feels as if the world has tilted on its axis. 

“You like it?” Shiro asks. “Apparently it’s very important you like it.”

“I’m pretty sure my mom just wanted to make sure I was resting my back,” Keith replies. He looks away, his cheeks pink. “I like it, though. You really built this?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers. 

Anxiety twists in his heart, making it pound. He takes in a deep, steadying breath. Keith is nothing if not brave— has never been a coward. He steadies himself and then he again to look at Shiro. 

“— You seriously like me?” 

Shiro looks at him, not letting his gaze waver. “Would I ever say that if I didn’t mean it, Keith?” 

Something lurches inside of Keith. It snaps or settles into place. He sits up and tips forward. When he kisses Shiro, it’s sloppy and uncertain and he nearly misses Shiro’s mouth. He scrambles forward, his hands sinking into the soft cushions and nearly falling forward to headbutt Shiro. 

Shiro makes a soft sound, surprised, and leans forward to kiss him in turn. His mouth is gentle, soft against Keith’s. It’s hardly a kiss at all— Keith haphazard, Shiro steady. 

Keith pulls back, terrified as he looks at him. 

Shiro’s eyes are soft, dazed and half-lidded. They look at each other for a moment. When Keith gives him a tentative smile, Shiro’s mouth tilts into something earnest and sweet.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers. Then, he catches Keith’s face with both of his hands, cupping his cheeks as he leans in and kisses him again. Keith can only whimper and then presses back, kissing him hard, clinging to his collar. 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers once they part again. Keith tips forward helplessly, his forehead pressing to Shiro’s. 

Shiro touches his cheek, his thumb tracing the scar there. It’s a gentle touch, hardly anything at all, but it makes Keith’s eyes flutter shut. Keith sighs when Shiro leans in and kisses him again, and again, and again—

He sucks in a deep breath, his first clear breath in so long, and kisses him back. He squirms closer, pressing to Shiro and kissing him back. Shiro is slow, gentle, with him, but in a way that feels cherishing rather than condescending. His touch to Keith’s cheek is light, fingers touching his jaw to tip his face up, to change the angle as Keith opens his mouth to him, as he deepens the kiss and swallows the soft sound Shiro makes in response. 

Shiro’s hands are sure and steady against him, holding him, cradling him. They kiss until Keith’s sure he’s about to forget his name. 

“Why now?” he asks, a quiet murmur against Shiro’s mouth, once they draw back. Shiro’s breathless, little puffs of air against Keith’s mouth leaving Keith feeling dizzy. 

“I never… really considered it before. At all. Not just you, but— in general.” Shiro drums his fingers against Keith’s back where he holds him, looking guilty. “There was always a reason why. The war. My dream.” He pauses, his voice going quieter, “My disease.” 

“Shiro,” Keith whispers. 

“… It still feels strange. It’s just— gone. It was a part of me for such a long time and now it’s… not here. It was bad most days and it hurt but it… it was part of me. And I didn’t even realize it was gone, either.” 

Keith nods, and cuddles closer to him, nuzzling against his shoulder. 

“You’ve almost died so many times since this all started,” Shiro says. “ _I’ve_ — well. I don’t know. Seeing you fall, after everything that’s happened here on Earth… I guess it made me realize that I— I never wanted to lose you.” 

Keith nods a little and shivers when Shiro curls both arms tight around him.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you woke up,” Shiro confesses. “Maybe before that. Everything that’s happened here, at home— it puts things in perspective. I’m… I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.” 

Keith shakes his head. “You never had to say it for me to know that you care about me.” 

Shiro nods. He hugs Keith close. Keith folds into him, his arms tight around Shiro’s shoulders. He breathes in as deep as he can manage and presses his cheek to Shiro’s. 

 

-

 

Keith must have fallen asleep because the next thing he’s aware of, it’s morning. He can tell from the way the light filters in through the blankets above them. Keith shifts a little, aware of himself in slow unfurling. 

He’s in Shiro’s arms. Shiro’s snoring a little in his ear. Shiro is half-hard, pressed up against Keith’s hip. 

Keith feels the heat rise in his cheeks and he presses his face into Shiro’s shoulder. He listens to him snore. It’s an endearing sound. 

It’s comfortable, inside the pillow fort. Now that Keith doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed, he can appreciate as much. It’s comfortable, cozy in a way that soothes his frayed nerves. In Shiro’s arms, he feels safe. 

Keith closes his eyes. Shiro _loves_ him. 

He hasn’t said it yet, but Keith believes him— believes everything Shiro says. It’s a strange thought, but it’s there, settled in the morning in a way it hadn’t last night. They’d stayed up too late, talking and kissing. And now—

Keith squirms a little and feels Shiro shift, pressing up against him. Keith bites his lip. He squirms again, pressing against Shiro. Slowly, Shiro starts to shift. 

Pulling back enough to look at him, Keith leans in to kiss him. As Shiro wakes up, he starts to respond, first a little sigh, then a murmur of Keith’s name. Then his hand comes up to cup his face and kiss him back with more purpose, more focus. Keith melts into him and deepens it slowly, opening up to Shiro, to everything Shiro can offer him. He didn’t realize it could be so easy. 

He breathes out, simply. He expects to cough, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he pulls back and whispers against Shiro’s mouth, “Good morning.”

“Mm,” Shiro hums, quiet, his voice gravely and sleep-thick, “Morning, baby.” 

The petname zips through Keith and something swells inside him. He squirms up and kisses Shiro again, who opens to meet him, his thumb fanning over Keith’s cheek. 

“Liked that?” Shiro asks when they draw back, and his smile is shy, just a touch nervous. His cheeks are flushed pink, but he looks hopeful as he looks at Keith. 

It’s strange, to be someone’s source of hope. To feel that same hope resounding. 

“Shut up. Being smug doesn’t suit you.” 

Shiro’s smile gentles and he tilts his head, studying him. “You alright?” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Keith answers, which isn’t quite an answer. He shifts closer, resting his head against Shiro’s chest. He shivers when Shiro’s hand finds his hair, curling gently and tugging once. 

“It’s good you can rest.”

“Mm.” 

He shifts, pressing closer, and slots his hips forward so he presses to him. He watches Shiro go still and his lips part around a very quiet, “Oh.” 

They look at each other. 

“Do you want to?” Keith asks. 

Shiro gives him a wobbly smile. “We… I understand if you’d rather wait. I—” He looks shy for a moment, cheeks flushed and fumbling as Keith experimentally wriggles his hips forward. Shiro bites his lip. “You’re still recovering.” 

“I’ve waited for you for so long,” Keith says, fueled on by a sudden need, a sudden desire to reassure, to capture, to hold this moment in his hands. He slings his leg up and over and straddles Shiro’s hips. “I’m tired of waiting.” 

Shiro hesitates for only a moment, his pupils blown wide, his breath hitched— and then he leans up and kisses him. It’s a remarkably sweet kiss, considering, but then Keith’s starting to get the feeling that this is just the way Shiro kisses. And the fact that he can get to know that now, well. That’s everything.

He cups his face and kisses him back, slow and precise. He wriggles forward, rocking his hips just to hear Shiro gasp. Shiro’s hands touch his hips and it’s too much. Keith shivers. 

He’s never been touched like this and he doesn’t know where his own confidence comes from, only knows he’s pushing himself forward for the sake of swallowing each sound Shiro makes, for the sake of feeling Shiro shift and rise beneath him. He rocks his hips forward and feels Shiro’s cock swell against his. 

It’s a frenzied feeling, hurried and imprecise, and Keith keens softly when Shiro’s fingers dig hard against his hips, drag him forward and set a pace against him. They grind against one another and Keith’s already trembling, already overwhelmed. 

He breaks the kiss to duck his head, biting his lip back against the moan he lets out as Shiro’s hands slip underneath his shirt and drag up his back. He almost coughs but his breath hitches instead. He lifts his arms and lets Shiro start stripping him. 

“I can’t believe,” Keith whispers around a laugh, “that you’re propositioning me in a damn pillow fort.” 

Shiro gives him a look as he tosses aside Keith’s shirt. “It’s a Galra Mating Bower.”

“No it fucking is not,” Keith returns and laughs at Shiro’s expression. “I’ve never even heard of that. It’s not a thing. Don’t tell me you _planned_ on mating me in here or something.”

Shiro’s nose wrinkles and he blushes up to his ears. “ _No._ ” 

“Good. Cause that’d be silly.” 

Shiro sniffs. “I worked hard on this, Keith.” 

Keith would rather tease than admit that it is comfortable, that as far as pillow forts go, Shiro’s built a rather solid one, and one certainly comfortable enough to fit them both. He also knows he’s going to have to get the story, play by play, from Shiro later— just _how_ exactly his mother explained a ‘courtship den’ to him, and then how Shiro reacted. Instead of saying any of that, he just giggles as Shiro leans up and kisses him. He bites and tugs at Shiro’s lip for good measure. 

“I like it a lot,” Keith says, although in reality it’s that he likes _Shiro._ That Shiro thought of him. That Shiro would do all this—

He believes him, and it’s still somehow impossible to him to consider that Shiro could return his feelings. It’s a buzzing weight in his chest, but freeing, startling. Everything. 

Shiro looks just as wondering as Keith starts tugging his shirt off over Shiro’s head. 

He says, “… I really thought you considered me your brother, before.” 

Keith wrinkles his nose. “Could you not say that while we’re undressing?”

Shiro laughs. “Sorry.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, blushing. He says, “You _are_ my brother. You’re also my friend. You’re also…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, the words on the tip of his tongue. It’s obvious now. He’s hiding nothing. And yet. He breathes out and says, quiet, “You’re also the person I love.” 

Shiro touches his cheek and tips his head up to look at him. Shiro smiles and kisses him, slow and sweet. Keith sighs and sinks into that feeling, touching Shiro’s hair, fingers tangling. 

“People can be more than one thing, Shiro,” Keith tells him once they break apart. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says quietly. He looks at him. “I’m saying it back. Once you’re cured.” 

Keith nods, but his chest feels lighter. He hasn’t coughed at all since waking up, hasn’t felt a single flower pushing against his throat. 

He touches Shiro’s jaw, wonders at the sharp cut of it, the soft way Shiro smiles and leans in to meet him, kissing him slow and sweet. 

Shiro makes quick work of the last of his clothes with only a little effort considering Keith refuses to leave his lap. Still, Keith trembles once he’s naked, feeling vulnerable. But Shiro’s hands are warm and firm against him, reverent as they sweep up his stomach and chest, across his shoulders. His fingers touch each of Keith’s scars. Keith ducks his head and lets his hair fall into his eyes, not quite shy but wanting to admire every moment of this.

His eyes drag over Shiro, who leans back to let him admire, unselfconscious as Keith touches every part of him. 

Shiro grabs him by his hips and rocks up. Keith gasps as their cocks slide together. Keith lurches forward, pressing his face tight against Shiro’s neck, hates that even that’s enough to get him trembling, but not protesting when Shiro’s big hand comes between them and curls around Keith’s cock, pulling once before twisting around him, sliding him closer and fisting both their cocks. 

It isn’t as if Keith hasn’t touched himself before, but with Shiro’s hand, it’s almost electrifying, the feel of his Altean hand dwarfing them both, stroking slow and purposeful, twisting at Keith’s base and pulling every moan and gasp from his mouth. Shiro noses at his jaw, whispers his name, and twists his hand against him. Keith’s hips stutter forward and he’s gasping, he’s useless, he’s helpless in Shiro’s arms. 

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, his mouth bumping against Keith’s, his voice breathless. “I can s—”

“If you stop,” Keith hisses, hips stuttering forward into Shiro’s palm, shuddering at the feeling of his cock sliding against Shiro’s. “I’ll bite you.”

Shiro laughs and Keith bites him anyway, chews once at his bottom lip before suckling on it, swiping his tongue over it and then into his mouth, moaning as he kisses Shiro sloppily. Shiro keens, a quiet, pleased sound, and rocks against Keith. 

The friction builds and Keith shudders, gasping, his world condensing down to just the feel of Shiro’s hand sliding down his cock, twisting and squeezing around him, slick from their precome. He feels Shiro’s cock, big and thick, against his own, thrusting into his fisted hand and Keith grabs at his shoulders, digs his nails in, and rides him out, rocking his hips forward desperately. When he comes, it’s with Shiro’s name muffled into his neck, where Keith bites and kisses down hard against his skin. 

He’s panting, his body shivering and rolling forward, his come slicking Shiro’s hand. He peeks down, watches the way Shiro cups his hand over Keith’s cockhead to catch it, then slicks down in a few more long pulls. Keith watches and feels Shiro’s cock twitch before he comes, the low moan rocking through his entire body. Keith can feel it where he’s pressed chest to chest with Shiro. 

He drops his hand down, too, on the tail end to stroke Shiro through it, to feel him come and pulse in his hand. Shiro gasps out, his head tossing back, as Keith strokes him through it, squeezes around the girthy base of Shiro’s cock and feels him twitch. He’s thick and full in his hand. He’s already addicted to that feeling.

Shiro lets out a low moan, breathless, against his ear. Keith smiles to himself and lifts up to press a kiss to the crook of his jaw, lingering, nosing against his cheek. 

“Again,” Keith decides, and his voice is breathless and whiny. 

Shiro laughs. “Gonna need a minute.” 

Keith squirms closer, draping his arms over Shiro’s shoulders, and kissing his face. Shiro chuckles and lets him, eyes shut and expression blissed. 

A moment later, Keith starts laughing. “Can’t believe the first time I have sex is in a pillow fort.” He sniffs and then smirks. “Sorry, I meant, _a Galra Mating Den._ ” 

“Ugh, shut up!” Shiro laughs and curls his arm around Keith’s neck, getting him into a headlock and ruffling his hair. Keith barks out a laugh and then blows a raspberry against Shiro’s stomach for good measure. 

It sends them into a giggling fit, silenced only when Keith rolls up and kisses Shiro again, just because he can. Just because he wants to. 

Shiro’s hand runs down his back, gently, rests at his ass and tugs him in closer. Keith whimpers. 

“Want that,” Keith murmurs against his mouth, sighing.

“Woah,” Shiro breathes, blinking his eyes open to look at him. “Really?” 

Keith nods, blushing. “Um. If you want.” 

Shiro chuckles, blushing. “Anything, Keith. Anything with you.” 

He keeps his hand on Keith’s ass and flexes his other hand, absently, studying it. It’s still shiny with their come and Keith feels himself flush with longing, feels his cock twitch with interest. 

“I need to get lube,” Shiro says, more to himself, and shifts. Keith’s loathed to get out of his lap but he does shift back and away, settling onto the pillows with a frown. 

“Just send your hand. I’ve seen its range.” 

Shiro barks out a surprised laugh. “There’s an idea. But I don’t think I’ve sent it anywhere without visual.” 

He looks intrigued, though. He starts to crawl away and over towards the entrance to the pillow nest. Keith watches his ass appreciatively for a moment and then leans after him to slap it. Shiro nearly rocks forward into one of the support structures for the pillows and nearly takes the whole fort down with it, but Keith just starts laughing at Shiro’s startled, blushing face, so it’s worth it. 

“ _Keith._ ” 

“Hurry. I’m bored,” Keith whines, which isn’t true at all. Still, he curls his hand around his cock and starts tugging, with far less care than Shiro showed him. 

“You’re such a brat,” Shiro says, with wonder, but sounds far from annoyed and more delighted than anything else. 

Keith grins as Shiro kneels at the entrance and sends his arm off. He’s handsome, kneeling there, strong back and strong jaw, his brow furrowed in concentration as he peers out, his hand fetching lube from wherever he keeps it. He opens his arms to Shiro once he returns, curling down to meet his kiss sweetly. 

Shiro keeps kissing him, even as he pops the cap and slicks his fingers up. Keith makes a soft sound, lifting his hips up, trying to prepare. 

But it doesn’t come. Instead, he feels Shiro shift back and away from him. One hand touches his chest, keeping him flat on his back, splayed out amongst the cushions and blankets. When Keith blinks his eyes open, he watches Shiro shift above him and spread his legs, his other hand dropping back behind him.

“Oh,” Keith says, stupidly. His ears turn pink. “I thought—”

Shiro pauses, and blushes, too. “Oh.” 

They sit there for a moment.

Then Keith starts giggling and Shiro joins him a moment later, face splintering into something boyish and sweet. Keith grasps at the hand pressed to his chest and tugs it up, kissing Shiro’s palm helplessly. 

“It’s— it takes a little getting used to, if you haven’t done it before,” Shiro says, kindly, in that way of his that doesn’t belittle or condescend. Keith’s grateful for it and he tilts his head. “Uh,” Shiro continues. “Besides… My hand’s kind of big. I’ll need to practice with my left for it to be any good for you.”

Keith doesn’t have the heart to tell Shiro that he’s very invested in the idea of Shiro’s bigger hand inside of him, but it is their first time doing this, so he can be magnanimous just this once. Keith studies Shiro’s left hand, human fingers and human knuckles. He kisses Shiro’s thumb for good measure. 

“It’s not like you’ve had practice with the prosthetic, either,” Keith says, reasonably, but then he watches Shiro’s entire face turn bright cherry red. He coughs a little. Keith stares and then barks out a laugh. “What! Shiro!” 

Shiro shushes him, laughing and endearingly embarrassed. “Yeah, laugh it up.” He sobers a moment later. “Is this okay? I didn’t mean to assume. I just— I don’t want to hurt you. And… I’ll make it good.” 

“Oh,” Keith whispers.

Shiro plucks his other hand from Keith’s and slides it down his chest, his stomach, curls around Keith’s very interested cock and squeezes until Keith lets out a whimper. 

“Let me take care of you, baby,” Shiro says, voice low and rough. Keith can only nod. 

And he does. Keith can only paw at Shiro, feeling foolish but unable to look away as Shiro bends over him and spreads himself open on his own fingers. Keith doesn’t know where to look and settles for studying Shiro’s face, every twitch and twinge. His face is flushed, his mouth slack with soft breaths, little breathy moans that punch out of him whenever Keith pushes his hair back from his face, slides down over his chest, letting his nails drag. He just wants to touch all of him. 

His hand slides down his back, finds Shiro’s hand where he’s working his fingers into himself. He touches his knuckles, skims along his rim without breeching and is rewarded with Shiro’s surprised, pleased gasp. 

When Shiro settles over him, takes Keith’s cock gently in his hand, and guides it inside, Keith can only lie back and feel breathless, feel taken care of. Shiro is above him, thighs flexing at his hips. Keith’s hands fall there and squeeze and Shiro ducks his head, biting his lip, as he adjusts to Keith inside of him. 

For Keith, it’s almost too much. He feels like he’s trembling, like he’s shaking apart, and he can feel himself inside Shiro, can feel every shift and flex of Shiro’s body over him. 

“Can I— Shiro,” Keith whispers, pawing at Shiro’s chest, tugging on his shoulders to pull him down. 

With some maneuvering, they roll onto their sides so Keith can move more, better, circling his hips and stroking into Shiro. He feels Shiro flex and rock back to meet him. Keith keeps his hands on Shiro’s chest, feeling the thrum of his heart, the flex of his stomach as he rolls his hips back to meet Keith’s cock. Shiro’s Altean hand twists into Keith’s hair and holds, his other hand grasping at Keith’s hip to guide him forward. 

He rocks into him, their legs tangled together, Shiro’s cock thick and heavy against his stomach as he moves. They move like that and Keith bites at Shiro’s shoulder, then the back of his neck, inhales and gasps out. He feels Shiro pressed fully against him, feels himself rock into him. That tight heat, the flex of Shiro’s muscles, the sound of his breathless moans, his gasps that might have been Keith’s name—

It’s all too much. Keith tips forward, burying his face against Shiro’s shoulder as he comes inside him, feels Shiro gasp and arch against him. His hands drag down over Shiro’s body, feels all over him as he comes. When he manages to curl his hand around Shiro’s cock and stroke him, it takes very little to push Shiro over the edge regardless of Keith’s clumsiness.

In the aftermath, they’re both breathing heavy, sweat clinging to them. But Keith’s never felt happier, and when he sighs against Shiro’s shoulder, there’s no rattle in his lungs. 

“I love you,” he whispers against Shiro’s neck and Shiro hums, tangling their fingers together. He presses Keith’s hand against his chest, over his heart. Keith closes his eyes and listens to every steady beat. 

 

-

 

When Keith emerges from the pillow fort later that morning, after the morning has long become early afternoon, he finds his mom waiting out in the hallway. She glances first at the marks on Keith’s neck and then at the pillows stacked behind Keith’s shoulder before the door whooshes shut. 

Keith’s never felt so embarrassed. 

“The cure’s ready,” Krolia says. 

Shiro stumbles out of the room a moment later, pulling on his boot, bouncing on one foot. In the barren light of the hallway, Keith can see Shiro’s neck thoroughly marked up from Keith’s teeth. He looks exactly like a stereotype of _just been fucked_ and Keith wants to pretend he isn’t utterly embarrassed and mortified. But he is. 

He also feels strangely satisfied, to know that he could make Shiro look like that, that he’s the cause for Shiro’s moony expression as he smiles at Keith— then looks up and sees Krolia. 

He blushes up to his ears again as soon as he registers Krolia’s presence. “Uh—”

“Good morning, Captain,” Krolia says, and it’s only because Keith knows her so well that he can tell she’s amused, though her face remains neutral. She turns to Keith and her expression softens. “Come on. We should run the last tests before we administer the cure.” 

Keith looks down, smiling faintly as he follows his mother. Shiro’s hand tentatively reaches out, brushing gently across his knuckles. Keith catches it before he can pull away and threads their fingers together. They hold hands the entire walk. Keith breathes in and smiles. 

He knows he doesn’t need the cure anymore. 

 

-

 

When they run the tests, Keith is fully cured. No trace of flowers within him, no petals and no seeds. Nothing but clear airways. There’s rejoicing all around and a few sighs of relief. There’s also a knowing look exchanged among their friends that leaves Shiro blushing to his ears and Keith similarly pink beside him. 

All the same, they administer the cure to Keith, just to be on the safe side. It’s a small injection, and then he’s all set. Keiths breathes in and then out.

“Just in case,” Colleen says, smiling as she rolls Keith’s sleeve back down. “Don’t want you to catch this again.”

Keith’s eyes soften as he smiles down at his hands and then glances at Shiro. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” he says, quiet. “But thank you.” 

Shiro feels helpless as he smiles back. He squeezes Keith’s hand when he wraps their fingers together. 

“For the record,” Shiro whispers, once the room empties and it’s just the two of them. He waits for Keith to look up at him before he smiles, helplessly. “I—”

“I love you,” Keith says. He hooks his arm around Shiro’s neck and drags him down, kissing him.

He lets out a soft, pleased keen when Shiro whispers his answer: “I love you, too, Keith.” 

 

-

 

Shiro frowns at the display of flowers. Everywhere he looks, his nose is full of pollen and every flower bud seems to mock. Feeling awkward, he says, “No. No. This was definitely a bad idea.” 

“Yeah,” Lance says beside him, hands on his hips and lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “Kind of ironic to give a ‘hey congrats on feeling better!’ gift that’s made up of the thing that made him sick in the first place.” 

“I guess I could buy him a new knife,” Shiro considers. Krolia’s advice on proper courting behaviors aside, perhaps she’d have an idea about what constitutes a strong, emotionally weighted gift. 

Hunk groans beside him. “That’s unromantic.” 

Shiro privately thinks it’s likely the thing Keith would find the most romantic, but he allows the others to drag him around the shop. 

“Here,” Pidge announces, holding up a potted cactus. “Do this. It doesn’t bloom. Plus, neither of you can easily kill this thing.” 

Shiro smiles at it. It’s lumpy and small, prickly to the touch. It reminds Shiro of all those days hoverbike racing with Keith, reminds him of desert sunsets and Keith’s smile. 

“He’s gone all moony,” Lance calls out, loud and dramatic, and entirely to startle Shiro. 

He settles on the cactus. When he presents it to Keith later, Keith snorts and says, fondly, “Shit. Imagine coughing this up.” 

He grins at Shiro, laughing. He keeps laughing— airy, light, unrestricted— even once Shiro cups his face and leans in to kiss him. 

“Hey,” he whispers when he draws back and waits for Keith’s answering hum. He brushes his nose to his. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
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>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
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>  **ETA:** I am BEYOND grateful and touched to have fanart for this fic; thank you so much to Heather for [her beautiful fanart](https://twitter.com/hchanooo/status/1110452396021313536).
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/stardropdream) // [Dreamwidth](https://stardropdream.dreamwidth.org/)


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